Jigsaw puzzles were part of my childhood. We kept them in our linen closet and amazingly enough after generations of use, most were complete. The older ones were on wood, the newer on cardboard. Most were Swiss scenes. No one thought that one day I would live there much less become a citizen.
No, I don't consider jigsaw puzzles like a Ouija Board or crystal ball to predict the future.
During the winter, pieces were put out on a card table that had been set up. Sometimes the four of us, my grandmother, mother, brother and I, would sit around the table. Other times, it would be any combination. As we passed by the table, we might pause and put a couple of pieces together.
Saturday nights, family game night, would often find us in front of the fire putting a puzzle together. We did a puzzle the day, Jack Kennedy was inaugurated. Despite being from Massachusetts, my Republican family wasn't happy, although I loved him.
Decades later when the widow I lived with and who loved jigsaws had one constantly in her winter room that I recaptured the pleasure.
When Pages & Sips, an English bookstore and café opened in Geneva, besides books, they had very unusual jigsaws. I was able to find a Jane Austen/quiz jigsaw for a friend who loved her books.
We bought a book called The Jigsaw Murders.
Last Sunday, going to Pages & Sips for scones, I saw on the book table two jigsaws: Paris and 50 books. As a compulsive reader, even though I love Paris, I scooped the one about books.
My husband was dubious. Our small flat doesn't have room for a puzzle table. I sacrificed our dining room table. I thought he would ignore it.
Wrong.
As I worked on the frame, he was busy assembling the book pieces.
Geneva is rainy and gray, weather to discourage going out. As perfect as my New England childhood winters only with less snow for doing jigsaws, drinking tea and crowing each time part of the puzzle is put back together.
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