My dad used to do a lot of jigsaws. I never saw the appeal personally, but when you were bored and there was nothing on tv, and there was a massive puzzle spread across the dining room table, you tended to try and help. Well, I would do a piece or two, get frustrated and give up and go and read or outside or do anything else. Write. I would go and write. Which was always the fundamental different between me and my dad, I had an imagination, but my father didn’t. Doesn’t.
He liked to do those really difficult one that were just beans or just dice. Which just made it all the frustrating. I remember the beans one being double sided with Brussels sprouts but none of us liked sprouts so he did the beans. It was boring and I could be reading out complex worlds or trying to create my own, or living in some of them.
And my dad did jigsaws and crossword puzzles.
They would sit on the dining room table for weeks, spread across the entire thing except for the place where my grandad sat at the end. He as always left enough room for his newspaper and a cup of coffee. His stereo was behind him and that was my grandad’s spot.
He would complete them and then they would be scooped up and put back in the box. Then they would sit on the top of the cabinet and stay there. I know some people glue their jigsaws, and display them, my dads just gathered dust for years on that cabinet.
Never made much sense to me but then little of what my dad did back then made sense to me.
Check out my guest post on A2Z Fiction – J is for Jolt
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