THERE WAS NO WARNING.
I had just returned from a task that brings meaning and purpose to a retiree (triple-A batteries were on sale across town), but stepping over the threshold of my front door, I knew something was wrong.
In the middle distance, our dining room table — a place of memorable family gatherings and special dinners with friends — had been defiled with dozens of randomly shaped pieces of colored cardboard.
I gasped. This monstrous intrusion had presumably been placed there by the other member of my household, whose name I could not utter without a fierce complaint, the cry of a man wounded by a symbol of the last throes of human existence ... the jigsaw puzzle.
She: Oh, you’re home. I found that puzzle I’d misplaced.
Me: But I’m not ready for puzzles! It’s what you do when there’s little left to life, when you’re one step away from the grave!
She: Don’t be silly.
Me: I’m still a young man! In elephant years, I’m a teenager. I just got my driver’s license, for heaven’s sake!
She: You just got it back.
Me: We’ve discussed this. A Prius is low to the ground, with virtually no wind resistance. As I tried to explain to the officer ...
She: A jigsaw puzzle will be fun. It’s something we can do at the table together.
Me: We’ve been sitting across the table from each other for 45 years. Why add a degree of difficulty to it?
She:
Me: Could we at least make a drinking game out of it? Like, one drink for every piece connected.
She: Fine. But not for corners.
Me: But the corners are the only pieces I know! I’ll call the granddaughter. She can knock this out in a couple hours, as I watch appreciatively. While drinking.
AND WHAT KIND of puzzle is it, I wondered, reaching for the box and assuming the worst. Probably “Waveless Blue Sea and Sky, Also Blue.” But as I pulled up the box from behind the table, its insidiousness was revealed in cinematic slow motion.
Me: A thousand pieces?! Life is too short!
She: You just said you were young.
Me: I lied.
She: You’re being ridiculous. We’re doing this puzzle. Look. I’ve already found a corner piece and ...
Me: MINE!
She: How hard could this be?
Me: I need to go down to my wood shop and think this over.
She: You don’t have a wood shop, and I know you keep old Tom Clancy novels down there. I’ve told you many times there are better books. And now we have a puzzle.
GROAN. All I did was run out for a quick errand, wrongly assuming my wife could be left alone. Next time, I’ll arrange for a daughter to phone in. That should kill a good hour, enough time to go through closets for other hazards to a happy life. (I think I spotted a Water Coloring for Seniors book that needs to be moved to an undisclosed location.)
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