Zen Summer

Of the four years that I spent as a teacher, there was only one summer that I didn’t either work or go to school. That was the Summer of the Jigsaw Puzzle. Living in a small town and having limited transportation available (meaning that the nearest shopping mall was over an hour’s drive away, and my car was a very unreliable 1965 Ford Galaxie with black leather interior and no air conditioning), I had to find ways to entertain myself that didn’t involve a lot of money or travel.

There was a small cadre of young teachers in Boardman, that summer. We had befriended each other during the school year, and so we naturally gravitated toward each other for company over the summer. Although there were a few evening hours spent at the local pub, weekly rotating dinners where we practiced our emerging skills in the kitchen, and the occasional party, mostly we needed something to do each day that would protect our reputations and stimulate our minds, on our very short purse-strings.

One day we took a group trip into the nearest town with a thrift store, which was 20 miles away. As we idly picked through the random items, not sure if we were even looking for something or just trying to get rid of another day of vacation, I came across a display of jigsaw puzzles. I started looking through them and became intrigued as I sorted through pictures of cherry blossoms, fall leaves against a forest floor, clouds against a sky so blue and so clear that the breeze could almost be felt off of the box top, and a 1000 piece monster that seemed simple: Cracker Jack pieces scattered and stacked, with the Cracker Jack logo placed discreetly in the corner.

I waved to my fellow shoppers and they saw what I was beginning to see: hours, days, and even weeks of cheap entertainment for low, low prices. We each chose two or three puzzles, and headed home. With no children, and many of us with no spouses to dine with, our dining tables quickly became piled with puzzle pieces, and puzzle pictures taking shape as time went on. We quickly, and a little obsessively, worked at our play.

As one puzzle would get completed, each of us would happily trade with another, so no one was ever without. Then, the Cracker Jack attacked. I will confess to being the one who purchased the dreaded candy-coated monster. Hour after hour was spent trying to match pieces that all had the same color scheme, and almost, but just not quite the same shape. Being foolish, I found all the pieces that had the logo first. This left approximately 950 pieces of nothing but caramel corn and peanuts. Instead of a day or two, maybe three or four for something like the cherry blossoms, this monster stretched into weeks, before it was finally finished. And when it was, there was only one thing to do: take it all apart and send it to the next person on the list. I hated to do both, but did. Every single member of the Round Robin Puzzlers hated that monster. I can’t say that they were too thrilled with me for buying it either, but I think it made for a great finale.

There was something about doing the puzzles that was healing for me that summer. It was the only time I had ever not worked or gone to school. Puzzling over the pieces and the pictures, imagining how the parts would become a whole, kept my mind working when I wasn’t. It’s soothing to do something productive, even when the end result isn’t something permanent. I imagine the Zen Buddhists that create sand Mandalas, only to brush them away when they are done. Life is transitory. That is what the Zen masters are demonstrating with their art. The jigsaw puzzle summer was fun, enlightening, and a perfect Zen experience.