SATURDAY THOUGHTS

My late Auntee Gladys was on my mind today. I particularly remembered how much she loved assembling jigsaw puzzles. 

She'd place a large, smooth, sturdy piece of cardboard on her cleared kitchen table, open the puzzle box, and dump the individual pieces in a heap, in the middle. Then, she'd carefully locate all of the corner pieces, and any pieces that had straight edges, isolate them, and begin assembling until there was a large rectanglular frame of puzzle pieces on the table. She insisted that if I were to "do a puzzle", it's what should always be done first. It was akin to building a foundation; establishing boundaries and borders; finding similarities that worked together; making the task easier. 

Always nearby for reference, would be the color photo of the painting or photograph. 

She'd spend hours working, noticing distinct colors, patterns, and details, until the total image appeared. Every now and then, there would be a few missing pieces that were critical to the completion of the puzzle. That would frustrate her. She needed them. Where were they? Had she not fully emptied the box? Had they fallen on the floor? Had she accidentally swept them up, and tossed them in the trash? Had someone been meddling with her puzzle, and misplaced them? Were they pieces stuck together? Were they never included in the box in the first place? What was the point in continuing if all of the pieces weren't there?

Missing pieces presented a dilemma. They, somehow, took the wind out of her progress. They diminished the puzzle, and the full appreciation of it. She never considered throwing the rest of the puzzle away, though. She figured that she could use cardboard to craft homemade pieces, although they wouldn't be the same. 

Sometimes, she'd complete a puzzle, only to look at it, and then undo it all. Although the interlocking pieces fit well, looked good, and joined to form a beautiful image, they could always, very easily, and abruptly be dismantled, and put back into the box. Seemed odd, but it was her puzzle. On those occasions, it had just been an exercise. A hobby. Something to pass the time.

I knew which puzzles Auntee Gladys really liked, though. There was an extra level of care given to them. Those puzzles were assembled in the same manner as the others, except, when she finished, they would be sealed, with some kind of thick, transparent glue, so that there would be no chance of them being accidentally or purposely disturbed, shifted, dropped, or taken apart. The glue held everything together. It was supposedly permanent. Without it, the puzzle on her table was vulnerable to spills, stains, or the weight of anything from a coffee cup, to the daily newspaper being placed upon it. Even the cardboard, used to keep the puzzle level, and allow her to move an in-progress puzzle from one place to another, wasn't as vital as the glue. The glue sealed it, and gave the puzzle integrity---posterity even. It determined how the puzzle could be handled. The glue gave it strength. It even seemed to brighten the colors. 

Sometimes, she'd seal both sides. Once dry, the completed puzzles would get another level of security. They were enshrined under glass, placed into a picture frame, and hung on a wall.

Funny, but after all of that attention and care, you had to get right up close to the displayed piece to see that it was, in fact, a puzzle. The glue erased borders, filled in spaces, blurred distinctions, and united all of the pieces into a beautiful whole.