I located a treasure recently that I hadn’t even missed. It’s a puzzle of the United States, with all 50 pieces in varying colors and stamped with each state capital. That puzzle was a favorite of mine growing up, made all the more so because it was reversible with the states on one side and a map of the world on the other. The aggravating thing was that in putting the puzzle together after relocating it, I couldn’t find Maryland. Admittedly, the state is small and might not even be missed, especially since it just hangs off the end at the Atlantic Ocean, but I knew it was missing, which made the puzzle incomplete. And that was sad.
I learned my state capitals by working with that puzzle. At one time, I could name all 50 capitals, but now I can’t even name the capital of Montana without cheating. The same goes for New Hampshire and North Dakota. And what about Maryland? I can’t even cheat on that one because Maryland is missing.
If a puzzle is easy, I’m all in, but the piece count has to be minimal. My sister-in-law loved to put together the kind that contained a jillion pieces; she was totally challenged by any with patterns like a piano keyboard or maybe a solid ocean with a few whitecaps. She even had a special table set aside for puzzles in progress and she would shellac the most special projects for hanging later. I’m patient, but only with college freshmen, not inanimate jigsaws. College freshmen are actually a bit easier to figure out. Still, the effort required to complete a repetitive task, like searching for and locating correct links, is very satisfying. I’m just not willing to endure the continued disappointment of finding and trying to force a connection that turns out to be wrong. It makes me mad.
We hosted a family Christmas gathering last year with a prized Dirty Santa gift turning out to be a 200-piece puzzle of the state of Mississippi. As most of the party people were from Mississippi, the puzzle was a hit that required an immediate put-together activity. All went silent as the group of cousins sorted and shared and analyzed patterns, gleefully popping in matching pieces every few seconds. That family is nothing if not focused, and just the slightest bit competitive. Puzzle complete, I posed for a picture with the group, as if I were an active participant, but the truth is that I just hung out to be sociable, intently rearranging a few pieces but finding no matches. None.
I do enjoy word games, like Scrabble, but I’m not wild about crossword puzzles and I just do not understand Sudoku. I want to win at whatever I attempt, and a halfway done crossword puzzle is not winning and would probably keep me up at night. My mom, on the other hand, had no problem leaving an uncompleted newspaper crossword puzzle on the table, done in pencil because she wasn’t sure enough of herself to use a pen. And her widowed mother kept a Commercial Appeal subscription for years, simply for the pleasure of getting a new crossword puzzle with each delivery. Never mind the local or national news. Out on a limb with no Google or online dictionary support, those women were real players who didn’t need to be perfect but took pleasure in the attempt.
Word games like Hangman or Word Ladder or even Find the Words in the Big Square of Letters are very much in my ballpark and excellent preparation for my spin on Wheel of Fortune. Probably not Jeopardy training, but then I know my limits.
About a week after I realized Maryland was missing, I stopped by a little junk store, looking for nothing in particular. And wonder of wonders, there it was. Nestled in among the kids’ sewing cards and old board games and Bingo sets was my little United States pressed board puzzle, just waiting to make my day. I would have recognized the box anywhere, although it was in a lot better shape than mine, with no ripped corners or missing side panel. Apparently, the child who had enjoyed that puzzle hadn’t been quite as intent on learning his state capitals as I had been, but all the better for me. Surely this puzzle would include Maryland.
I gladly handed the shopkeeper a $10 bill and rushed home to find Maryland. And after filtering through the much larger states, there she was. A tiny pink piece, easily overlooked by anyone less OCD than me, with a yellow star beside Annapolis. And I would have sworn that Maryland’s state seat was Baltimore. But no, the capital of Maryland really is Annapolis.
The best part of it all is that I now have a spare for each of the other 49 states. I’m sure I’ll sleep a lot easier now.
