This puzzle came in an unmarked box, with no picture to guide us. It is a watercolor and all of the colors blend into each other.
We both enjoy a challenge, but we truly do not need any extra frustration in our lives. It took us a week, and we have never taken longer than two days to complete any puzzle.
We took several pictures of it, printed off the best of the lot, and put the entire shebang back in the box, ready to pass off to the next poor soul.
Oh. The object behind all this was that the finished picture would solve a mystery. It doesn’t.
This is from an article on MSN about the mass shooting in Boulder:
Denny Stong, 20, the youngest victim, worked for the King Soopers supermarket chain, according to his Facebook page. He listed planes, bikes and motorcycles as some of his interests.
In an apparent nod to the coronavirus pandemic, Stong had updated his Facebook profile picture to say, “I can’t stay home, I am a Grocery Store Worker.”
Stong celebrated a birthday this month and asked his friends to donate to the National Foundation for Gun Rights, whose website says it works “to expand pro-gun precedents and defend gun owners.”
Stong’s father, Nicholas Stong, declined to be interviewed Tuesday.
We both enjoy putting together jigsaw puzzles, but The Squire has outdone himself. He found a box under the stairs with one of those puzzles where there’s a mystery to be solved. The picture on the box is not the picture that will be completed, but the new picture will tell you whodunit.
So not only is there no picture, but the puzzle was painted with watercolors, so everything runs together. And it’s HUGE – 23″ by 29″, so it nearly covers the card table. A thousand pieces of utter vexation. He’s been at it for close to a week now – notice I said “he” – and is about half done. I ordered two new puzzles from a place called SeriousPuzzles.com and I am dying to break one out and get started. I’m not going to spoil his fun, so I’ve wait until he gets that bloody thing completed, leave it on the table to admire for a few days, and then open a new box.
I enjoy a challenge, but Lord knows I don’t need any more frustration in my life.
My BFF called the house Thursday morning to say she’d heard Harford County had some extra vaccine, and gave us the phone number to inquire. We managed to get an appointment, changed out of our Schlepping Rags and into something that didn’t look so awful folks would want to take up a collection for us, and sallied forth.
We were given a health questionnaire to complete, had it checked by an “intake” person, and sent off toward the gymnasium. The halls are so long that they had a lady with an orange flag, which looked as if it had been borrowed from a road crew, to point us in the right direction. The clerk at the door sent us to tables, where we got “shot”. My doctor introduced herself, rolled up my sleeve, poked me, applied a Band-Aid and had me off toward another table in probably no more time than it took me to type that sentence. By the time we had registered for our second shot, we were nearing the end of the 15 minute waiting period, so we were out the door. The entire business took less than half an hour.
The Squire has a fetish. It sometimes seems as if every time that man sees a frying pan in the store he buys it. We had two sets on non-stick pans, and he came home the other day with yet another set.
He started out innocently enough with darker set in the back, which he bought at Aldi’s. Then after a few months, he stopped at some specialty shop and bought the light colored set. (Yes, Virginia, there is a smaller skillet, but it seems to be MIA right now. ) His most recent purchase is the black set. He claims the non-stick factor stops working, and he needs a new pan. I take comfort in the fact that he could have a lot worse habits, and since he does the bulk of the cooking, I really can’t complain.
Recently, he was bemoaning the fact that none of these have oven-proof handles, so he can’t make a proper frittata. He had that faraway look that usually presages a shopping trip, so I reminded him was already have skillets that will do exactly what he wants to do.
“Oh?”
We have three different sizes of cast iron skillets under the cooktop.
After dithering around for several years, I finally had the cataract removed from my right eye today.
They always tell you not to eat or drink before the surgery, but I did take a small dose of my anti-convulsant. I have restless leg syndrome, and when I had the left eye done the anesthesiologist had a hard time keeping me still. You don’t want to be dancing all over the operating table during any surgery, but especially not when they are working on your eyes, so this time I took a half a pill before I left the house..
From what I gather, it was a jolly good thing, because they told The Squire they had to give me extra “juice” anyway. When the doctor came in to give me a pre-op pep talk, I was so sleepy I didn’t respond. I do remember him opening my “good” eye and saying “peek=a=boo”, but not much else. A faint recollection of something round above my eye, and I complained later about the rock band they had in the OR; that turned out to be some sort of machine, which they agreed was very loud. My nurse had a hard time getting a decent blood oxygen reading; I have Renaud’s syndrome, and when I get cold the blood doesn’t flow into the tips of my fingers, or my toes, for that matter. The first time she fired on one of my index fingers she said it looked as if I was dead – and cooling rapidly. She had to try all ten finger before she finally managed to get a decent reading from my right thumb. I suggested a cup of hot coffee might be useful. She agreed but they don’t give patients that because of the danger of people spilling it all over themselves. Makes sense – it’s hard to drink when you are semi-reclining, and you simply cannot drive coffee with a straw!
The Squire collected me after the surgery, brought me home and fed me and then helped me up to bed, where I slept for several hours. After supper and eyedrops, I tried to work on a jigsaw puzzle while he went to the market, but between my vison and the cat deciding I needed help, that didn’t pan out too well.
thisendoftheswamp 