For the past nine months, at the end of the month I’ve thought particularly of Mom. Why? Because she died April 29, 2025. At the end of this particular month I happen to be working a puzzle, which makes me think of working puzzles with Mom- -her passion for them, and her puzzling quirks. In short, my puzzling inheritance.
I hate it when we talk about Mom dying.
I know, 9. It’ll never be easy, but we have lots of wonderful memories of her. Some of them even go back to your time.
When I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s it was not at all unusual for a jigsaw puzzle to be set up on a card table in the den, or the glass coffee table in the formal living room. It’s still a popular hobby in today’s world, and enjoyed a strong resurgence during COVID when people were looking for things to do while sequestered to home.
Like Mom, I’ve always loved puzzles. She taught my sister and me to turn all the pieces so they were facing right side up, and to put the edges in their own pile to assemble first. On some puzzles, where a multi-colored picture runs all the way to the edges, this is an easy task. On others, with a small number of muted colors and a uniform decorative frame similar to a framed picture, assembling the edges first might not be the wisest choice:
Puzzling Inheritance: Currently celebrated with a map of the constellations!
That one looks reasonably challenging.
I find it so, Lily. I took it out of the canister a few days ago. Given my propensity to become obsessed with jigsaw puzzles I’ve had to budget my play time. I give myself half an hour with morning coffee, and half an hour here and there throughout the day after completing a major task, like a long swim or drafting this blog.
How can you stand to wait? I couldn’t stand it!
My puzzling inheritance includes several examples and experiences of puzzle bingeing, growing increasingly inefficient as after-dinner hours stretch toward midnight and my back, neck and eyes tire. Fortunately, I’m reading three highly interesting novels right now, which helps keep life balanced. Also, puzzling has supplanted my desire to play games on the still-functioning digital Advent calendar.
Back to my puzzling inheritance. In addition to turning over all the pieces, starting with the edges, and creating a temporary cycle of addiction once a puzzle is started, Mom also segregated other types of pieces by color or design. If there were people and/or animals pictured she’d make an Eye Bank, a Mouth Bank, a Face Bank, suggestive of a high inventory transplant center. She was an excellent puzzler (also a top solver of crossword puzzles and murder mysteries). Later in life a friend of hers who wasn’t such a good puzzler had the habit of hiding one piece and bringing it out last.
Puzzling Inheritance: Isolate the edges, first. This puzzle has the more challenging “frame” type of edges. . .
Did she yell at him?
At first, maybe. Later she probably rolled her eyes and poured herself a glass of wine.
Say, that sounds like a good idea! And my annual observation of Dry January will end the day after tomorrow. Perhaps my first sip on Sunday will coincide with fitting the very last piece into this magnificent puzzle?
Puzzling Inheritance: A day at the Leg Bank. . .
Okay, the blog is drafted! Now switching to my bonus activity: 30 precious minutes of you-know-what, and more good memories of Mom.
My mom was a puzzler too. Better than me (I just want to talk), but not as fast as my sister, who is a focused, puzzle-machine. When Mom died in March last year, she left an unfinished puzzle on her puzzle board, which took up the entirety of her small kitchen table. She ate around whatever puzzle was current, stacking mail and notes on the side of this fragmented centerpiece.
In the division of things, my sister took the puzzle board, along with its unfinished puzzle, to use at her house. She brought it out at Thanksgiving and we finished it together, or did what we could It was short two pieces, lost to cleaning out Mom’s house, which bothered my sister more than I knew. She later admitted to ordering another copy of that puzzle (same maker) to mine for the two missing pieces, to complete something bigger than just a picture, I can only guess. She was frustrated to realize that even the same puzzle from the same maker did not have the same cut, so the same pieces from the new puzzle did not fit in the old one. Some pieces about mothers will never be tidy or finished.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful remembrance, Cynthia! You’re so right about mothers. . .
<3
And the inheritance lives on . . .
What fun! I’m not a puzzler but enjoyed piecing it together through your engaging words. Thanks!
And thank you for interpreting this week’s blog with your own engaging words, Rebecca!