The topic of this latest offering for Country Expressions (our monthly writing group) was picked by me, probably in a moment of sentimental madness. I was going to compose a beautifully esoteric post comparing jigsaws to life, their freeform patterns a metaphor for the changing journeys we all experience.
Bollocks to that...
Instead, I have decided to be far more straightforward. Instead of flowery interpretation, I am going to discuss the purpose of the jigsaw. In my opinion, jigsaws are the work of the Devil Incarnate, a device to confound, annoy and frustrate me.
Don't get me wrong; I have attempted, on occasion, to construct jigsaws or contribute to one being created. I remember hovering over one of Sian's humungous monstrosities, a piece in my hand, trying to judge where it could possibly fit. In sheer impatience at my hesitancy, Sian took the piece out of my hand and placed it in its correct position. At that moment, I realised that jigsaws were not my friends.
Jan has a stunning three-dimensional jigsaw vase. I can admire its beauty, whilst being terrified to touch it, lest it disintegrates. I am not the most coordinated person on the planet; in fact, I share remarkable similarities with Hyacinth Bucket's hapless neighbour Elizabeth, who lived in fear of being invited to tea and being required to hold a cup and saucer. Like Liz, my propensity for clumsiness increases exponentially with a rise in my stress levels.
Jigsaws sometimes do have a place. Alex was able to identify and complete two anatomically correct jigsaws of a boy and girl when we had no idea of his knowledge of gender. When I was forced to engage with early childhood jigsaws, as a parent helper, I could just manage. The pieces were big and chunky, the design limited and simple and the audience appreciative of my assistance. The line was drawn if I had to tackle a jigsaw of more than fifty pieces.
Then there's Lego, that hideous concoction that mimics jigsaws with directions to build a particular structure. Any parent can sympathise with that worst of agonies, standing on a piece of bloody Lego left on the floor, causing intense howls of pain, culminating in the confiscation of said Lego for suffering caused.
Tangrams and Meccano are other loathsome forms of mental torture and games such as Connect Four just give me grief. Ask Michael about my lack of ability at following instructions for tent or gazebo construction. These have been episodes when he requires the patience of a saint. Anything that needs some degree of predictive spatial awareness is definitely not my cup of tea.
And as Liz dreads being asked over to Hyacinth's house, I dread the day somebody gives me a jigsaw, supposedly for fun.
Thus endeth my time on my soapbox.
How Connect Four discs end up as frisbees aimed for the throat!
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