I grew up on a quiet street in Ottawa Hills, a village surrounded by the City of Toledo, Ohio. Orchard Road was mainly populated by families, so there were always kids riding their bikes and playing jacks on the sidewalk. Our two-story home had a neighbor on each side. On the corner was a single mom with two teenage boys named Ellen (I always thought that's where my middle name came from until my other advised me otherwise). To the right of our house lived an older couple whose last name was Fisher.

Mrs. Fisher (I don't think we ever knew her first name) had glow-in-the-dark bleached blond hair and wore cotton house dresses and slippers all day long, usually with a cigarette dangling from her mouth. They didn't have children or grandchildren and I never saw any visitors there. Once in a while, she would invite us kids over to her kitchen and give us Tom Collins mix (without alcohol) in paper cups. Mother put a stop to that, deeming it kind of suspicious. 

Frank was a balding man who was consumed by attaining perfection on his back and front lawns. He would appear on the front lawn wearing a pith helmet, sleeveless undershirt and boxer shorts, as well as dark socks and sandals. Us kids would laugh hysterically when we spotted him from our window. Frank would survey the lawn and meticulously pull any weeds he might discover. His driveway consisted of two cement strips with grass in the middle. Frank apparently hated it when delivery trucks or visitors parked in the driveway, possibly dripping oil or other fluids on his carefully maintained lawn. He painted a small sawhorse silver, put a small "NO PARKING" plate on it and placed it over the two cement strips, hoping to discourage possible offenders. In our backyard, there was a large tree. In the fall, it would drop its leaves on the ground, including on Frank's yard. He would rake the leaves into a basket and dump them in our yard since they came from our tree. This made my mother crazy. 

One night, my mom Barbara, who was a generally quiet and modest person not given to displays of anger, waited until very late and crept over to the Fisher's driveway. She grabbed the aforementioned silver sawhorse, plopped it in her station wagon and drove it to the nearby University of Toledo campus, where she deposited it in a parking lot. The following Halloween, she actually egged Frank's house from a second-story window, amazing us with her throwing arm and daring. 

I grew up and left home. As far as I know, my mom never again pulled these pranks on anyone else. The Fishers moved away, never to be heard from again.  

A few weeks ago, I saw a notice at the Rowlett library advertising a writing contest with the theme of "Into the Unknown." I thought why not and submitted this short essay. Amazingly, I placed first in the Short Work division and received a cash prize as well as a certificate from the City of Rowlett. It's a somewhat longer than my usual posts, but I hope you'll enjoy it.

Into My Personal Unknown   
                  
This is not about space travel, a cure for cancer, driverless vehicles, or artificial intelligence. Instead, it is a very personal essay about the great unknown that lies ahead for every human being. I will be 78 years old in a few short months and nearly every day brings a reminder that I am getting closer to the end. I say this not with sadness or melancholy, but with a sense of curiosity about my future.

Recently I have been reminded of the fragility of human life, especially for those in my wider circle of friends and family. The young father taken from my second cousin and her sons by an incurable brain tumor, the sudden death of my childhood friend’s husband and my brother-in-law’s long, complicated, near-fatal illness in just the last month have all served as a wakeup call that the expected length of our existence on earth is not a given. Grief envelops me as I contemplate these events and the deaths of others precious to me, particularly my younger brother, dead at 54 from pancreatic cancer.

My father and mother passed away at 84 and 91, respectively. Death at their ages was not unusual or unexpected, but I find myself missing them terribly some days. I long to call my mom and fill her in about her three great-grandchildren. I miss conversations with my dad, who was full of wisdom. One day long ago, when I said I wished I could close my eyes and my three children would be out of diapers, he said, “Don’t ever do that, because when you open them, they’ll be getting dressed for the prom.”

My closest friends are scattered around the country. Each of these women are now widows, carving out new lives and navigating their senior years without a spouse. I have been lucky in that respect. My husband and I have been married more than five decades and while I hope with all my heart that he will be with me for a long time, I sometimes find myself wondering if I would cope as well as my widowed friends. I have always been independent and self-sufficient, so there’s that.

That brings up another subject. If I die first, will my husband be able to cope on his own? Neither of us want to burden our children with care responsibilities. We had a taste of that last summer when I was recovering from surgery and my husband suffered from painful back problems at the same time. Thankfully, our son was able to stay with us and take over for a few weeks. But when staying in our home becomes difficult, what will we do next? Both of us are in decent health but we are very much aware that a heart attack, stroke, or bad fall could upend our lives.

I try to stay as active as possible, taking care of the house and our dog. I read voraciously both online and in print and love to garden. Each day, I complete the New York Times crossword puzzle and play Wordle (though not always successfully). We support our busy daughters and their families by being available for school drop off and pick up when needed and transport kids back and forth to sports and other activities. Sometimes, I wonder how much longer driving a car will be a possibility for me. I have already stopped driving at night because oncoming headlights make it hard to see and I have trouble judging curbs and turns in the dark.

Often, I cannot remember a word or name that used to come to mind easily. I think that some of this may have been caused by a major back surgery five years ago with 11 hours under anesthesia, but it happens more frequently than I would like as I age. I had a long career as a writer, so this is fairly upsetting to me.

You might be getting a bit depressed reading my words so far but take heart. I have had a satisfying life, a long and happy marriage, a fulfilling career, and the chance to raise three terrific human beings. My grandchildren are a constant joy and I take every opportunity to connect with them. I bake cupcakes for birthday parties, attend every concert, cheer at each athletic contest, and rejoice in their achievements. The two older ones are buried in their phones, of course, but my youngest still loves to sleep over and play games with grandma. I hope I am around long enough to see each of them graduate from high school and maybe college. I may not get to attend weddings or hold great-grandchildren, but you never know.

I always expected to live a long time. My four grandparents were an important presence in my young life. I treasure what my maternal grandmother taught me about sewing and how my gentle grandfather showed me how things grow. My paternal grandpa and grandma taught me something about business. Two of them nearly made it to their 100th birthday. I hope that I can be that important in the lives of my grandkids as they grow to adulthood.

What will my grandchildren remember about me when I am no longer here? I hope that they will inherit my love of music, words, writing, and reading. Perhaps they will learn to enjoy cooking and baking as much as I do. I want them to honor their parents and remember all they have done on their behalf.

What do I wish for them? I hope they have lifelong friends they can count on. I want them to travel the world and know not everyone is just like them. More importantly, I hope they will be kind to others and generous with their time and money as they grow older. May they fall in love many times, have their hearts broken once or twice, but eventually find their soulmate and have children as wonderful as they are.
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No one knows when life’s journey on earth will end and whether there will be a new one in the great beyond, perhaps accompanied by treasured family and friends. I want to be reunited with my three dachshunds and have as much chocolate as I desire--not kidding about this. I have had a rewarding life and continue to treasure each day as it comes, even as the end draws near. 

A few weeks ago, I went on a solo trip to St. Louis, Missouri to visit a friend. Our relationship is a little difficult to explain, but here goes. A couple years ago, my son-in-law Reagan, who was adopted, located his birth mother Clarita who lives in St. Louis as do his brother and sister (another sister lives in Chicago.) Last fall, she and her sister-in-law Michele came to Texas for a visit and we had a great time together. Clarita invited me for a visit and off I went.

The two ladies had all kinds of things planned for my visit. First we went to historic Main Steet in St. Charles, MO where there were many shops and restaurants, including Siostra, a Polish pottery store that had everything you could imagine. I bought a cruet for olive oil for my husband. We had lunch outdoors at a barbeque place called Salt + Smoke, where I tried a local favorite, toasted ravioli (which exploded its pimento cheese filling when I took a bite). On other days, we went to Yayas, a European bistro with a delightful menu, and a little Greek place. A visit to the St. Louis Botanical Garden was both a history lesson and a tour of the gorgeous flower beds, with trees in full bloom. We also went to the Butterfly House, a glass-enclosed building with a tropical environment for the 1,000 types of butterflies from many different countries that flew around us. 

Another day took us a short distance to Kimmswick, a historic river town that had many shops in the original buildings of the town. We enjoyed a lazy lunch at The Blue Owl, a wood-paneled down-home eatery that served Levee High Apple Pie, a towering dessert with a domed top crust, and had fun shopping at Mississippi Mud, where we each bought something fun.

Clarita and I had a brief visit with Reagan's sister Susie, her husband Deet and their two young daughters. Michele fixed an elegant dinner and I had a chance to meet John, her husband.  Dessert was a St. Louis tradition, gooey butter cake we purchased from Gooey Louie's. It's sort like a cross between a brownie and a cake, very rich and decadent. I later got to meet her husband John and we enjoyed a long conversation. 

On my final day in St. Louis, we attended a 16th birthday party at the home of Reagan's brother Dan and his partner Monika. The birthday girl was her daughter Sophie. I got to meet her brother Pascal and Dan's daughter Hannah. It was great to put names with the faces Hannah and Reagan had described to me. Then I was off to the airport to fly home. It was a great trip, with lots of time with Clarita and Michele. We vowed to get together again very soon.

Yesterday, I did something I've been waiting to do for two years. You see, last summer I had surgery to re-attach a torn hip muscle. I had to use a walker for six weeks and could only touch my left toes. Not fun at all. I spent most of the summer in a lift chair provided by my daughter. The summer before that, I had urgent surgery to repair hernias on my right side. Another six weeks spent mostly in bed or in the lift chair. Needless to say, I wasn't able to do anything in the yard except to occasionally water my patio plants and perennial garden with the hose. I vowed that this summer would be different. 

Off I went to purchase flowers at Lowes. I bought a couple of flats of flowers and a bag of potting soil but was still missing some other plants I had in mind.  I visited Home Depot where I found sweet potato vine, a plant that will spill prettily over the side of the planter as it grows. Finally, I went to my local nursery where I asked a staff member to suggest a "centerpiece" plant that would be taller than the others. He showed me something called Angelonia, which was new to me. It sports little purple blossoms that look like miniature snapdragons.  Sold.

So now I had yellow zinnias, pink vinca, and coleus in addition to the others I mentioned. In a couple of trips using my garden cart, I moved all my purchases from the car to the backyard. This morning, I smoothed sunscreen over my skin, donned my Phillies bucket hat and put on my new gardening gloves. I got out my little gardening bench which has handy pockets for my tools--this has been great for me, so I don't have to bend over so far. Then I put a set of flowers for the first planter into the cart along with a small bag of potting soil and set off for the pool deck.

After two years, some of the soil had compacted or washed away, so I broke it up, removing any weeds. Then I added enough new soil to come to the top. First came the Angelonia for the center, then two each of the zinnias and vinca and one each of the coleus and sweet potato vine. Another trip to the patio with enough flowers for the other two large planters came next. This time, I broke into the larger bag of potting soil which was just enough to top them off. I moved the finished planters into position next to the pool and moved onto the next job--two smaller pots that would flank the pool deck furniture. This time, I supplemented the soil with some found in another pot.

I watered everything (something I will need to do each and every day in the Texas heat), cleaned up all the plastic pots and returned my gardening bench to a spot near the back door. All that remains is to mulch each planter to help keep moisture in and give them a more finished look, which I might do after it cools off tonight.

Now we have some bright colors to enjoy when we're watching our grandchildren swim. And yes, this makes me as happy as can be. I have a couple of other backyard tasks to complete, but I'll need the help of my eldest grandson for those and be happy to pay him for his trouble. Come on, summer!

For most of my life, a good night's sleep came easily to me. Even when awakened by a crying baby or an unexpected noise, returning to slumber was never a problem. Only when I was truly worried about something, like the serious illness of a family member or a frightening event like the terrorist attacks did I have trouble falling asleep and staying that way. 

Then Covid-19 happened. At the beginning, I had some real anxiety about it. At least in the early going, the possibility of contracting the disease which would eventually take the lives of more than a million Americans was really frightening. My husband Andy had several risk factors and of course, we were both well over 70. Like everyone, we were really strict about exposing ourselves by going to the grocery store or restaurants, as well as wearing masks in public. We stayed home most of the time and for a while, didn't even see our children and grandchildren. I began to have trouble either falling asleep or getting back to sleep if I woke up. Note: After avoiding Covid-19 for more than two years, I got it after attending a wedding in Philadelphia.

I tried a number of strategies, like staying up later than I usually did or taking things like Tylenol PM. Neither was effective. Then I tried a small dose of melatonin. Not only did it not help my insomnia, but I felt slightly buzzed the next day. I've always been a morning person--the most productive time of day for me. Now I felt like taking a nap by 9:30 a.m., which was most uncharacteristic. 

It seemed the only way for me to eventually get back to sleep was to get up and do something else until I felt really sleepy. So, I would get out of bed, put on my robe and slippers and repair to the family room. Usually, I would get a snack, like a yogurt or little bowl of cereal. I found that getting something in my stomach helped me eventually go back to sleep. There was only one problem with this approach: Toby. Our 10-year-old dachshund sleeps on the end of our bed. He is such a mama's boy that when I leave the room, he wakes from a sound slumber and follows me. This does not please him at all, and soon he was whining because he wanted to get back in bed. I found that if I got him up on the couch, he'd curl up in a blanket and snooze. 

I never take my phone or a book with me, just find something I really like on TV for about an hour. I've binged through Nashville a couple times (my favorite TV show ever), all 12 seasons of Call the Midwife, and recently New Amsterdam (about a hospital where things happen that would never occur in a real hospital). Last night, I watched The Four Seasons, a 1981 film with Alan Alda and Carol Burnett that I've always liked. When I feel myself getting drowsy, that's when I head back to bed, dachshund in tow. 

I've since learned that insomnia is fairly common in people over the age of 65. Maybe it's because we don't get enough activity during the day to tire us out or that we just don't need as much sleep as when we were younger. So, I've decided not to fight it. If I haven't drifted off after about 20 minutes, I quietly leave the bedroom with Toby and amuse myself with a low-stress TV show until my eyes are beginning to slam shut. Then I go to sleep quickly and wake up refreshed. Maybe insomnia will go away, maybe not, but at least I know what works for me. 

I should have known better but the list of items I didn't want any more was growing. Every time I looked in a room, on a shelf or in a closet, I found something else to add. There was the 36-bottle wine rack in the garage, the three photo albums I never used, and the assortment of baskets and artificial plants that decorated the tops of our kitchen cabinets. In the guest room closet there was an old but still-functioning printer/scanner. The kid's room had a DVD player (does anyone still use those?) and stored against the wall was the non-smart TV we didn't need after my daughter and her husband gave us a smart TV for Christmas. In our closet was a CPAP machine that my husband only used a couple of times. I had a box of cute dachshund figurines that belonged to my parents, as well as three large guys that were displayed along with aforementioned baskets and plants. Another box held a set of beautiful dishes we bought in Philadelphia's Chinatown years ago with a tea set. The list went on and on. It all had to go. 

Could I have taken all this stuff to the local thrift store? Of course. But no-o-o, I had to have a garage sale. I advertised on Nextdoor and bought signs and price stickers at the Dollar Store. I borrowed three folding tables. Spent an hour pricing everything. On a nice cool Saturday morning I set up the tables just inside the garage, draped them with some old red sheets and artfully arranged everything to appeal to potential buyers. The wine rack was a great place to display pots and artificial plants. Andy visited our bank and got $100 in small bills for making change. I strategically placed four signs around the neighborhood. I was ready to roll.

A few people trickled in but didn't buy anything. One or two cars slowed as they passed but kept going. One even turned around in the driveway and took off. In hour two, a couple women bought some of the pots and dachshunds. Speaking of dachshunds, our Toby was outside with me, but with his retractable lead hooked to the metal frame of the garage. He amused himself by barking at people or winding himself around table legs.

At noon, Andy brought me a turkey sandwich to quell hunger pangs. I consumed it uninterrupted by customers. A couple of Hispanic guys spent the most time perusing the items and commenting in Spanish. They did buy a couple things but were my last customers. Nearly all the items I had carefully arranged were still there. In hour four, when my back was about to give out from sitting in a wooden chair with a pillow, I called it quits. 

Now we couldn't pull the car into the garage because everything was still there. On Monday, I loaded nearly everything into the back of the Murano and headed for the thrift store, which was glad to take everything off my hands. Still trying to sell the wine rack. The Royal Copenhagen dachshunds might go to the consignment shop. And I'm still hoping to find a good home for the Chinese dishes because I just couldn't dump them at the thrift shop. I returned the tables, folded up the sheets and we pulled the car into the garage. 

Final profit? About ten bucks. Lesson learned. 

According to the calendar, spring is here, but signs of the season have been appearing in North Texas for weeks. Most trees have leafed out already and some are blooming. The daffodils in a neighbor's yard are finished for the year. The bluebells - the state flower of Texas - are about to carpet the hillsides. Temperatures have been warm most days with a few very cold nights and lots and lots of rain. 

I've been in the mood to clean out and reorganize. First on my list was the kid's room at our house. I went through all the books, puzzles and toys, pulling out those that Noah has outgrown. He and his friend Theo looked at it all and agreed on what should be given away to younger children. They kept a couple of items but helped me put everything else into bags. Then we set off for The Primrose School, where they both attended Pre-K. As we traveled the few blocks to the school, they reminisced adorably about their time there and what they missed now that they were third-graders (naptime and recess were high on the list). We dropped the bags at the front office and asked if the boys could visit their old teacher, Miss Moss. She shouted with delight when they came in the door, amazed at how big they were.

I moved all the puzzles I'd accumulated during the pandemic into the closet and reorganized the games into the small armoire. Building sets went into the drawers beneath the IKEA trundle bed. Then I realized that we had a lot of stuff that I wanted to get rid of. In the garage, a 36-bottle metal wine rack was first on the list. There was an old printer (still functional) and a DVD player and a 45-inch TV replaced by a larger set. Years ago, we bought a complete set of dishes and a tea set in Philadelphia's Chinatown. While we loved using them when the kids were still at home, it was time for them to go. I had a bunch of dachshund figurines that belonged to my parents and some larger ones I used to display on top of the kitchen cabinets along with some artificial plants and baskets. I found a number of pots I had used for plants, as well. All of these will go on sale next weekend, with any remaining items sent to the thrift store. 

Soon, I will tackle the outdoor spaces. Some of my patio plants were killed off during a frost, so I will replace those, having seen some good deals at a huge new grocery store near here. Next comes the task of filling all the planters around the pool with colorful annuals. First I have to get several bags of potting soil to fill up the containers. Miraculously, most of my perennials made it through the winter and are filling out beautifully. I may have to replace a couple and transplant one or two, but with so much rain, it's been kind of a swamp in the area in front of the brick wall that rings the garden. I'm hoping our lawn service can come up with a drainage solution. 

I'm enjoying the relatively cool weather and looking forward to days when the kids can swim. We got out the pool deck furniture today and hosed off the big umbrella. I've laundered all the beach towels and sorted through the toys, most of which hit the trash. Soon I'll make a trip to St. Louis to visit a friend, so the blahs of winter are officially over. Stay well, my friends!

The Christmas decorations are stowed in the garage, the last decorated cookie has been eaten and the radio stations have stopped playing Christmas music. It's 2023 and I'm suffering from my usual case of the winter blahs. It doesn't feel like winter here in North Texas, with temperatures staying in the 60s and even 70s. We had one cold snap when the temps dipped to 10 or 11, so I brought in my patio plants and my daughter Hannah and I draped a couple old sheets over my perennials. Alas, I think a few of them didn't make it, but I'll trim them back and hope for a miracle.

The trees have lost all their leaves, except for the live oaks common to this area. We haven't received much moisture recently and all the lawns are brown.  All in all, a rather depressing look, but the sun is shining today, so I'll take that. One of my orchids has burst into yellow blooms, which is cheerful. I'll make my usual January trek to purchase some new plants for the entry and my office. 

I got out one of my favorite 1,000-piece puzzles, a cover from The New Yorker magazine published in 1943 and have been working on that while my husband is watching what seem to be endless football games.  The illustration shows a young woman on a bicycle with a Christmas tree astride the bike. She's wearing goggles and a small black dog is running ahead of her. In the background is a country market with a display of apples in front. Two people are chatting near the Christmas tree display. 

I'm still searching for some freelance writing opportunities to relieve the boredom of this time of year and perhaps earn a few bucks. I've continued with the My Life, My Story project of the Veteran's Administration. I interview veterans who have volunteered for the project, learning about their time in the service and life afterward, as well as the care they have received from the VA. It's always very interesting. Then I write their story as if they are telling it themselves and submit. A coordinator from the VA goes over the story with the veteran, making any necessary changes and corrections. It's attached to their medical record so that doctors, nurses and other caregivers can get a better picture of their patient. I've very much enjoyed this project. 

With the holiday school break over, I've resumed getting Noah from the athletic center he goes to after school, giving him a snack and dropping him off at the martial arts class just around the corner where he is learning Taekwondo. He recently earned his green belt, quite an accomplishment for an 8-year-old! He still loves to stay overnight with us and is often dropped at our house for breakfast and school drop-off on days when Mom is headed downtown for work. 

Life is good. I appreciate everything we have, especially the closeness of our daughters and their families. Despite a few healthcare hiccups in the past year, things are now going well for both of us. Happy New Year to all!

​There's not a flake of snow on the ground here in Texas, but the holidays are upon us. Our Christmas tree has been up and decorated since before Thanksgiving so I can enjoy it for a bit longer and my Santa collection is on display in several rooms. Cut-out cookies have been baked in anticipation of a decorating party later this week. The presents have all been wrapped or sent and our family is planning a series of family activities for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. One of the traditions at our house is making and decorating a gingerbread house.

Many years ago, Andy and I spotted a gorgeous homemade gingerbread house on the cover of the Time-Life German Cookbook. We decided to give it a try.  Andy cut the patterns out of cardboard and I gathered the ingredients, which include honey, spices (although no ginger), butter, sugar and lots and lots of baking powder, which helps the dough set up like cement. We baked three recipes of the dough, which gets rolled out in pans before it cools completely--the honey, sugar and butter are brought to a boil and then added to the flour mixture. When the gingerbread has been baked and cooled slightly, we cut out the pieces and transferred them to a rack. The top of a door and a round window are cut out with a knife and backed with aluminum foil. Several recipes of royal icing are made to assemble and decorate the house.

The first year we tried this, we baked a base for the house. It proved somewhat uneven and messy, so we got a piece of plywood and cut it to size instead. We attempted to attach the steep roof pieces with frosting, but they slid right off! Andy, ever the engineer, hit on the idea of using toothpicks to "nail" the pieces together, which worked like a charm. 

Over the years, we have made these houses not only for ourselves, but as auction items and gifts to friends. Now that my grandchildren are older, they help me decorate. I used to use frosted Italian cookies for the roof, but they are hard to find here, so now I use frosted mini-wheats to create a "thatched" roof. The candies change from year to year, depending on what I can find, but usually include gum drops, starlight peppermints and old-fashioned "cut rock." To my mind, there is no such thing as too much candy on a gingerbread house. The best thing is that, properly stored, the houses will last for 4-5 years, even retaining its wonderful smell.

When I look at one of the gingerbread houses, it always brings Scrapple, our first dachshund, to mind. One day  decades ago, I came home to an empty house and heard a scratching sound. I followed it into the dining room and found a furry criminal on the dining room table gnawing a cookie off the roof. Attracted by the smell, he had apparently jumped up onto a chair and then the table. I screamed at him and he took off. Scrapple knew he was in big trouble and hid from me for days! 

I wish you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

I do not remember being especially enamored with jigsaw puzzles when I was a kid, except when we were on vacation at Clear Lake. Indiana. Boredom on a rainy day would bring out an especially difficult puzzle that was a black and white replica of an old newspaper page. I don't think we ever quite finished it and there were several missing pieces.

Then the pandemic came along. Being restricted to the house most of the time, I decided to conquer the crushing boredom by ordering a couple puzzles from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The first, a 500-piece depiction of the all the departments of the museum, wasn't that difficult. But the second one was a monster--a reproduction of Monet's Bridge with Waterlilies. Because the whole darn thing was in shades of green, it took me several months to finish it and then I couldn't locate three of the 1,000 pieces! This didn't discourage me from trying a few others. Woman in Gold by Klimt was a favorite, as was a reproduction of a New Yorker magazine cover of a young woman riding a bicycle down a snowy lane with a Christmas tree on board. My friend Claudia sent me a cute 1,000 piece puzzle with 26 breeds of dogs in alphabetical order. It featured pictures of socks, dog toys, a fire hydrant, a water dish and bones in between the pooches. I couldn't resist buying one with donuts of every flavor at our local hardware and gift store. I only met defeat with a 1,000-piece painting of Disneyworld. It was no trouble putting together the buildings and street filled with people, but the night sky was all very dark shades of navy blue. I resorted to grouping pieces with the same shape on several paper plates to make it less work, but to no avail.  Couldn't even complete the frame. My grandson Noah has never let me forget that I "gave up" on this puzzle. He loves to help me and is amazingly good at it for an 8-year-old, quickly trying and eliminating pieces as he goes. 

The most recent one, a gift from my daughter, was a beautiful street scene with a cafe, outdoor seating and a few shops, all in Kodachrome shades of turquoise, magenta, blue and purple. It took me only a few days to complete since it was 500 pieces. Now it's time to order a few more to keep me busy in the evenings. My husband is glued to his MLB package of every baseball game in the country, so I tune out the commentators and organ music (except when the Phillies are playing), take a seat at the kitchen table and attack the latest puzzle.  After turning all the pieces over, sometimes I do the frame first--other times assembling the most prominent features. I find it very relaxing and enjoy the strategy and concentration it takes to successfully complete even the largest puzzle. Just save me from deep blue skies.