dancingthroughchaos

Our whole life is solving puzzles – Ernö Rubik – Hungarian inventor of the Rubik cube

Thanks to some good friends, we recently stayed in a fantastic place in Bath.  It’s a while since we’ve been in this wonderful city, and a pleasure to return.

My plans for scheduling some walking in between wrestling with a pile of writing that was clamouring for my attention, were somewhat thwarted by the weather.  Not to worry, I am seldom bored, and the writing had more attention which was probably all to the good.  Besides all that, on arrival I explored the cupboards to get my bearings, and discovered a few games and, more alluringly, a jigsaw puzzle.

It’s been a while since I did one of these.  During lockdown, I had great plans to join all those busy constructors of puzzles only to discover that I didn’t actually have access to any.  It was disappointing; they’re a great way to take a break and let your sub-conscious process the bulging ‘in tray’ of thoughts.  But here, at last was a single box that drew me in with its gravitational pull.  I studied the picture, opened the lid, and was hooked.

My husband barely had time to unzip his case before I was up to my eyebrows straight-edged pieces to construct the frame.  It has to be said that I had seriously underestimated the dimensions of a 1,000-piece puzzle.  Constructing it on a round table added to the logistical difficulties of using said table for eating and working as well.  Ooops.  We had to adapt, we had to compromise. 

I had a finite amount of time to complete this work of art before we had to be on our way again, but I am a very goal-oriented person, so set to work with a will.  My family could tell you that I like nothing better than to achieve.  The thought that I would not be able to complete this puzzle in the time frame we had was total anathema to me.  It had to be done.

Alas, this was not as straightforward as I’d hoped.  The grass at the bottom was tricky thanks to the gloomy colours; the trees at the side were no picnic, and the sky was a total nightmare.  

Gradually, I managed to piece together a number of boats and individuals who were seriously fragmented by the sheer number of pieces into which they had been cut.  (Was that a head, an arm or just a piece of bark?)  Some bits of the puzzle were a complete mystery, bearing very little if any indication of where they should be.

After almost a week, I still hadn’t finished and was getting quite antsy about it.  I was even to be found one sleepless night desperately arranging pieces at 3am in the hope that I could move things along.  In the end, with just an annoying gap in the all too vast sky left, I resorted to sorting out the the remaining pieces into groups of: four blobs, four holes, three blobs, three holes, two blobs on adjacent sides, and the ordinary pieces where the two holes and two blobs are opposite one another.

This was useful for a short while as it allowed me to be very methodical in the alignment of pieces.  Unfortunately, even that system failed in the end.  Instead, I found myself literally trying every single piece that remained in the box into every single possible available space, turning it every which possible way to get the thing finished.  Yet still, no joy.

I was absolutely gutted to have to leave without having completed it.  I felt my honour as someone who always wants to finish what she’s started, was tarnished.  

I couldn’t bring myself to break it up and return it to the box, so I hope the next guests have managed to have the pleasure of placing the remaining bits into the appropriate places with a feeling of fulfilment that was denied me on this occasion.

I was still miffed about this a week later, but am facing the harsh but helpful reality that sometimes, try and we might, those of us who lean towards perfectionism just have to take satisfaction in what we did manage to achieve.  A lesson worth learning.  

[Second image by Hans Peter Gauster on Unsplash, with thanks]