My obsession confession

I can become obsessed and single-minded at times...focused on one thing...and I occasionally have to fight this overpowering urge of focus...of obsession...this need...this incredible desire.

It's difficult for me to control...and I haven't really found a support group that can help me out. I've dealt with this problem since I was little...I mean, really young...

it's...it's hard for me to think about...but I can assure you that I don't ever intend to quit!

Still, I feel I need to talk to you...if for no other reason than to perhaps understand myself better.

My obsession is this:

jigsaw puzzles

Yeah, you read that right. Jigsaw puzzles. Just typing those two words makes me a little giddy...a little light-headed...whoa.


I.love.jigsaw.puzzles.

I do. I began putting the pieces into place at an early age and the staying power it has for mezmerizing me is astounding. I love easy ones...3D ones...I'll do a puzzle with someone or by myself. I love them.

Had a Yogi Bear puzzle as a kid. A hamburger puzzle as a teen. I just completed a rooster puzzle at Mom's the other day. And I know there are more jigsaws in my future.

There has to be!

Here's the deal: I can't NOT attempt to put pieces in place if there's a puzzle anywhere about. The Cancer Center where Mom has a doc that she sees once in a while has a table set up with a jigsaw. Just the other day we were there...and as soon as the nurse led Mom back for her appt., I was planted in a chair at that table, eagerly picking up pieces and figuring out where they go.

I love puzzles. I love how the pieces feel in my hand. I relish the satisfying 'snick' when a piece is put into it's proper place. I enjoy sorting the outside pieces from the inside pieces.

I can sit at a table, doing a puzzle, and lose track of time. Easily. I'm not kidding. I literally lost track of time in 1979 because I was working on a puzzle of Rip Van Winkle. Began it on Monday the 20th and when I finished it, the newspaper told me it was 1984.

You see, when I get really involved with a puzzle...nothing else matters. It's me...and the pieces...and the big picture of the finished puzzle. And this overpowering urge to complete it...

Oh, sometimes it's not all fun. Sometimes my brow furrows...when I think I've got a piece in the right place...but the fit isn't right. No worries, though. The challenge continues. And the challenge helps make it fun.

When I was about 11 years old, I had a Shaun Cassidy jigsaw puzzle. And I would put that thing together and take it apart and put it together and take it apart...and I got to this place in my mind where I began timing myself...to see how long it took me to complete that picture. To finish the puzzle.


I think my fastest time was like, 7 minutes. I wrote a letter to Shaun telling him of my victory and he wrote a song about it.

Well, he should've written a song. Because I felt it was quite an accomplishment.

Jigsaw puzzles, for me, are about a variety of things. They're about creativity, and concentration, and control. Eye candy...especially the really tough ones that use similiar colors and items like flowers or cars or water...to make your mind work even harder.

They satisfy the Monk in me by giving me a false sense of control. Of giving me the ability to sort...and categorize...and determine what happens next. Do I complete the sky? Or do I work on the log cabin? Ah Ha Ha....I rub my hands together and feel a little like Frankenstein's creator...striving to finish my creation.

Told you I had a problem with puzzles. :)

Here's my pondering for today:

Sometimes I think we're all pieces in this big ol' jigsaw puzzle. And Someone is placing us in our proper place. To complete this beautiful picture.

Here's the other thing about jigsaw puzzles. There is nothing more depressing...or maddening...or disappointing...than realizing that there is a piece that's missing.


You, my friend, are a very important piece of the puzzle. You're just as necessary as a corner piece...or the cat's eye...or the wheel on the wagon. The big picture needs you.

I need you. As puzzling as that may seem...

Tell me more...tell me more!!

I started reading at a very early age.

In fact, by the time I was in the first grade, I was such a good reader that my teacher sent me to the second grade for reading class...because the first grade curriculum just wasn't 'challenging enough'.

But I'm not here to brag about my early learning experiences. That's just part of it...heehee...

If you had asked me, I would've told you the plain and simple truth. It didn't involve brains or intellect. It wasn't that I was some sort of "Super Student". It was...simply...this:

I love a good story!

I can't help it! There's something about starting with "Once upon a time..." and getting to the "happily ever after" that I think we all enjoy. Oh, not every good story ends or begins with those exact words...but I believe we all want to hear someone tell us about their life. So we can compare it to ours....or find out what we have in common...or find out about a certain place...or just to laugh. Or cry. We love a good story.

Maybe that's why reality television is so popular?

But I'm not here to talk about Survivor...or the Biggest Loser. I'm here to talk about a boy named Tommy.

This boy had the most exciting life! I mean...he was almost killed by my uncle Rick several times over...he survived (just barely!) a family vacation that involved a terrorizing group of raccoons in the garbage cans....and he was constantly riding around either on this pony or in a go-cart. The kid was something else!

At least to hear my Grandma tell it.

My love of Story began with Dr. Seuss' "And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street"...but it was my Grandma who cinched my love of Story by telling me and my sister about my Dad's childhood. Those family vacations...and incidents with raccoons...and go carts...and historic fights that he and our uncle Rick had together! Those stories were better than TV! My sister and I found out over the years that Dad was cool! This COULD NOT be the same person we lived with!

My Grandma may not have known exactly what kind of 'monster' she was helping to create, though. I fell in love with Story and it's consumed me...this love affair...and it's continued throughout my life.

From high school diaries that tell 'my' story...to learning the art of acting and being able to tell the stories of others on stage...to becoming a grown up and telling stories every so often around a family campfire. I realize the power Story has in my life.

So much power, in fact, that I've been paid for telling stories to elementary school students. So much power that I've spent close to 900 kaprillion dollars on scrapbooking supplies just for the opportunity to journal about a birthday party. To record a special event. To tell the Story.

Yesterday, the power of Story came up again. I found myself with a captive audience wanting to hear more. "Tell us more about Hannah growing up!" I heard. So I did.

And I thought of my Grandma right then. Did she understand the POWER of Story?

Do we? Really?

Do you, my friend, understand how important it is that you share some of yourself with others? You have incredible influence in people's lives...and you may not realize it...but someone is listening to you. What are you telling them?

You are a main character in a very good story. And someone wants to hear more...I encourage you today to share a piece with someone. And I also encourage you to listen. Who knows? You may find yourself falling in love with Story...

and living happily ever after. The End.

The Best Medicine...

You know who doesn't have a very good sense of humor?

Cats.

Cats do not have a good sense of humor. I think that's what makes them so funny.

They cannot laugh at themselves.


Growing up, we had cats. And on more than one occasion, one of our cats would do something goofy that would crack me up.

I don't believe any of those times was ever intentional. The cat never tried to make me laugh.

But I laughed just the same.

Because I love a good joke.

Those of you who know me...know I'm speaking the truth. Heck, I even tolerate bad jokes.

I can't help myself. I get all excited and tingly when someone says, "Hey...did you hear the one about...?"

I love jokes so much that I will frequently go into JCM with people (JCM stands for Joke Courtesy Mode-the state of listening to a previously heard joke with the same excitement/anticipation as the first time of hearing it). Everyone needs some JCM. I mean, nothing's as disappointing as having someone burst your bubble by saying, "That's no sandwich! That's my wife!" right before you get to say it.

My son is in jr. high. He comes home with jokes on a daily basis. And a lot of them require severely high dosages of JCM. And a lot of them are pretty sad.
But I listen to every one. Because I know how good it is to laugh.

And lately, I have been taking advantage of every opportunity I can to laugh. Because I haven't felt very good.

Physically, emotionally, mentally. All areas that are ailing. All areas that have greatly benefited from a big ol' belly laugh.

It's therapeutic, I'm told. And I believe it.

Take the other night, for instance...

Steve, my husband (who normally ISN'T very humorous!), did this funny voice thing and made me crack up.

The laughter felt good. Steve was pleased with himself and continued to do the voice. I laughed harder.

And the fact that he made me laugh so hard made me laugh even harder.

I went into a giggling fit. It got so bad that he became annoyed with me.

Kinda reminded me of a cat. Which was pretty humorous itself. Picturing my hubby as a kitty cat....heeheehee.

Picture this: here's me on the bed, laughing. Steve smiles at my laughter for a second...then, as he realizes I'm not 'slowing down'...begins to frown a little.

"It wasn't that funny!" he claims, indignantly. Which...snicker...just made me laugh harder!

"C'mon. Knock it off." he says. I can see he's baffled by my laughter and I want to stop. Honestly! I do!

But I can't. Have you ever been there? Do you know what that's like? To want to STOP laughing?

I'm trying to get myself under control. And Steve? He totally looks like a ticked off cat now!

Finally, in true 'ticked off cat' fashion...he got up and left. In a huff.

I laughed and laughed.

And felt better!

My friends, find something to laugh at today. However, I wouldn't recommend Steve. I don't think he'll get it...