Straight Edges

For Christmas, our daughter gave my husband and me a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. With the freezing temperatures outside and late afternoon darkness descending upon us, a puzzle seemed the perfect winter activity. Several evenings, with glasses of wine and James Taylor providing ambience, we worked.

While we’re working the puzzle, we seldom chat; sometimes we sing along to the music or pause to stretch and listen to the dog snoring at our feet. What a blessing when conversation is not necessary.

A week later, we only have the perimeter done. It seems puzzles are more puzzling than they look. It doesn’t help that the pieces are smaller than our fingernails.

The puzzle is of Cinque Terre, a place I have long wanted to visit. The string of seaside villages are built into the cliffs alongside the Italian Riviera coastline and offer breathtaking views.

For days, we struggled to find two or three missing straight edge pieces. Will 2025 will prove this challenging overall? As I swam, puzzle wise, in the aquamarine waters below Cinque Terre, it made me wonder why I’m so hellbent on finding the straight edges in my life.

The water, after all, is lovely.

When I think of the new year—Christmas décor packed away, mantel vacant, gift returns managed and new calendar installed—I am optimistic, as always, that this will be the year for straight edges: the year when copious planning and strategic footsteps will effect a breathtaking tapestry of experiences. Hearty laughter. Soaring achievements. This will be the year that I accomplish my goals. All of them.

And yet we all know how resolutions turn out, don’t we? Before long I’ll have surrendered those straight edges to the speedbumps, road blocks and detours that life throws my way. But perhaps there’s magic in that chaos—just as I have found satisfaction in assembling the puzzle pieces of massive water below Cinque Terre.

I struggle this time of year with a real dichotomy within. I miss the lights and noise of the holidays, yet take solace in the silence of a wintry walk at night. Although I long for the verdancy of spring, I am awed by the majestic icicles suspended from brittle branches. I find myself restless and pacing, while at the same time welcoming the leaden weight descending upon my eyes as I read beneath a fuzzy blanket.

January can be both cruel and comforting.

My husband and I finally found the missing straight edge pieces, and the border is complete. I’ve embarked on building the stone wall below. I’m not quite sure where it leads, so I’ll just take it one stone at a time. I see my husband frequently checking the puzzle picture, to orient himself. That’s so him. As for me, I just try to match pieces and hope for the best. One day, when I’m finished, the picture will be beautiful, even if I can’t envision it from my vantage point on the incomplete wall.

This week it snowed overnight, and mine were the first footsteps on the sidewalk in the early morning. After my dog Reese did his business, we retraced our steps, and I found myself trying to walk in the footprints I had already made. After 50 yards, I realized how foolishly OCD that was.

What new paths will I forge in 2025—or will I trudge within my same footprints? Familiarity is so easy, but what a delight to stomp through virgin snow.

Straight edges are necessary, but it’s the middle pieces that bring the beauty.

I started back to work this week and, as is often the case, found myself walking to campus with an elderly professor. Although I don’t know his name, we seem to park near each other each day and always make casual chitchat. If a few days pass and I don’t see him, I worry. With a long white beard and top hat, he shuffles along, briefcase and lunch box in hand. As always, he apologizes for his slow gait. This past Monday, I inquired about his holidays, and we discussed the bitterness of the weather.

“You need a hat,” he said, tipping his.

“I don’t like winter—or January,” I said—loudly, for he is obviously hard of hearing.

He smiled, the wisdom of years reflected in his faded eyes. What straight edges he must have sought and twists and turns he must have seen. How many New Year’s resolutions and December delights.

“We just have to keep moving forward,” he said.

Indeed.

Happy new year!