Don’t touch my light house!

I truly didn’t realize that puzzles were sort of a personal thing. I guess I WAS being territorial. But you see Brian is gone 40 plus hours a week and we are staying in a hotel so one of my “projects” is keeping a puzzle going on the kitchen bar.
There’s a certain rhythm to putting a puzzle together. Maybe it is like the way some people eat oreos or animal crackers-do you just pop them in your mouth? Do you eat all the lions or tigers first? Or do you bite off one limb at a time?
For me, a puzzle must be done methodically. First you dump all the pieces out and separate by color groups, all the sky together, the brown rocks or leaves etc. You separate out the edge pieces to make the border. Then you begin with some area of the puzzle that’s not too hard nor too easy to get the ball rolling. The thing you DON’T do however, is put together the interesting, colorful focal point of the puzzle, until you are ready, that is.
It’s the climax of the puzzle experience…the reward you get for patiently fitting together 100 pieces of blue sky or water. So you keep those pieces off in a group, separate and safe, until the time is right.
Brian, I guess, wasn’t aware of puzzle etiquette, my little rules for how puzzle picture development takes place. That wasn’t taught in engineering school obviously. I know this because last Saturday while he was supposedly working from his laptop in the kitchen, he was surreptitiously PUTTING THE LIGHTHOUSE TOGETHER!
WHAT?????? When I saw the “damage” to my precious puzzle I asked. “You put the light house together when I wasn’t looking? ” He thought he was helping out, being a team player in the game of puzzle-ing. HE was puzzled by my negative reaction. Well honey, I don’t mind your helping out with some of the sky or water but please….don’t touch my light house!

2 thoughts on “Don’t touch my light house!

  1. In truly traumatic periods I have had a puzzle in progress and while working on it , I would be praying about the situation. The puzzle helped me to work things out in my mind and with my Heavenly Father. Steve would walk by every once in a while, pick up a piece and most times lay it back down where he got it. It was my coping tool, not his.
    Miss you

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