Puzzle Theory

 I hate puzzles.  The idea of taking 500 uniquely shaped pieces and using a trial and error approach to finding the perfect combination and configuration strikes me as mindless and mundane. Certainly this is not my idea of family entertainment.

I’m happiest when my mind is engaged.  At times in my life I’ve had a couple of jobs that are highly repetitive; jobs that required less thought than action.  These were the jobs where I found myself watching the clock. Computers, automation and a trend toward outsourcing labor-intensive manufacturing to other countries, should all add up to fewer mindless jobs today than when I was growing up.

Now watching TV is a mindless “activity” of a different color, but putting a puzzle together just seems like hard dull work. My family was determined, however, that a puzzle was a perfect family activity.

Eve produced a sealed Milton Bradley box from the garage.  We only do “sealed” jig saw puzzles otherwise we spend most of our time fretting that the one piece we’re looking for is clearly missing. Even with the sealed box I was under the couch numerous times convinced that MY piece had been removed from the table.

We dumped out our MB Easy Grasp series box, which is a photograph of a beautiful palace in Thailand.  We like the “easy grasp” puzzles because the pieces are bigger which makes it easy for everyone in the family to participate (and because it’s easier!). There is nothing like the feeling of hopelessness when the box is first dumped on the table.

We only spent a few minutes working on the puzzle that first night. The boys took the first big step by themselves. They sorted out the straight edge pieces and constructing the frame. And then the puzzle sat for days.  No one touched it.  Dog tails went wagging by, maids cleaned around it and legs rested atop it, but no one made a move to complete the puzzle.  Then my wife threw down the puzzle glove.  She assigned me the sky. The blue sky.  The clear blue sky!

The boys and Eve began working on buildings, trees and gardens. I grumbled at my crappy assignment.  In unison the family assured me that I had real puzzle talent and that I was the best person for that perfectly blue sky.

That first piece seemed to take hours to find.  I finally found it.  It slipped into place in the top right corner of the puzzle.  I thought I heard a bit of a “hush” sound. No one else seemed to hear it. I felt good. I gently tapped the piece to unnecessarily secure it into place.  I was hooked.

From that point on the Sky Specialist had a mission. What began as an unsophisticated trial and error brute force approach, quickly became so much more.  I developed an ability to look at the space, then at the pieces and pick the right piece out of the crowd. There was a feeling, a confidence, a sixth puzzle sense. I was at one with the puzzle.

The puzzle sucked up lots of my time.  That first night I found 20 pieces.  The next night I found 40 and the third night we completed the puzzle.  We argued about who would get the privilege of finishing the puzzle.

I still claim to hate puzzles. I now feel like a truly know the Thai sky. I haven’t admitted my addiction to my family but maybe it is obvious. I dread the idea of spending too much of my life working at a repetitive and mindless task, but with this puzzle I decided that there is a certain comfort in completing tasks and knowing that no matter what it’s not possible to put a puzzle together incorrectly, unless you count those lost pieces.

Greg Harris, Ó2004