The packages in the mail today: Klimpt metallic puzzle of "Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer" and Seurat puzzle of "Sunday Afternoon." Both are 1000 piece puzzles, the perfect size for casual puzzling. For me, puzzles are therapeutic; an outlet for that neurotic side of me, that same side of me that is constantly cleaning an organizing my home. Nothing could be more satisfying to that part of me than meticulously piecing a puzzle together. It is a perfect way to relax or just simply a way to fill quiet moments. There is ritual in the assembly of jigsaw puzzles, habits of first separating out the edge pieces, convention in searching for particular elements and patterns. The pieces are all splayed out in front of you; hiding, laying in wait. Contentment abound as sections carefully come together. I enjoy the sense of community when friends or family slow down and join in, gathered around the table, working toward a common goal. There is ritual in the evening crossword puzzle, always there at my bedside piled among the books; always in pen, no erasers here. I try my best not to pick up the thesaurus or dictionary; I find much gratification in working the recesses of my mind to decipher the clue and use the appropriate language. This activity, generally the last task of my day even if for just a few minutes, whose purpose is to tire my eyes before I drift into sleep. There is ritual in the puzzling behavior of Greenbean, who every night after she has come to bed and the lights go out, returns downstairs without us. There she makes her noise, this little animal who never utters a peep otherwise, wanders around the dark house with quiet questioning meows and mews. Her peculiar behavior fills my home with calming familiarity as I answer her calls with whistles and kisses until she returns to her corner of the bed, snuggled up by my feet. Mmm... puzzles...