Crosswords

Not the arguing, swearing, mean-spirited kind. The puzzle kind. My morning newspaper contains two of them. One is called the Commuter, one is titled the Daily. Sometimes I do just one, sometimes I complete them both. One or the other at times seems more difficult, bordering on the exasperating where I run to consult Google or my dictionary. I find doing the crossword a pleasant diversion, particularly the Sunday puzzle. There is only one crossword on Sunday, but it is a larger, themed one that I really enjoy. I work the crosswords with abandon and in ink. Lately, I've been a little obsessed (can one ever be just a little obsessed?) with completing the entire puzzle correctly, no smudges, no errors, no oopsies. Feeling somehow like the the daily crossword is a tiny little metaphor for my life. That if both of them are neatly and correctly completed, that some little part of my life will fall completely and correctly into place. Hah! This afternoon I had a greater revelation as I struggled with one of the puzzles, nearly wearing through the newsprint with blotchy, ink-smeared corrections. I eventually finished both of them and beamed over my hard fought battle with the clues. This, I thought, is much more like my life. Messy. Doing it over til I get it right. A smorgasbord of Duh! and, of course! and, I get it! A path sprinkled with fun, frustration, and often and finally, fulfillment. A more cautious soul would use a pencil.