 My mother loved crossword puzzles. When she figured out a word, her eyes lit up. She'd lick the tip of her pencil and then point it at the puzzle as if she was going in for the kill, and then she'd flap her tongue up and down. The more difficult the puzzle, the more she flapped. Understand, my mother never finished high school, never went to college. But she was a whiz at word puzzles, the harder the better.
I, on the other hand, find them impossible. I have a master's in English. I love putting words together. I enjoy learning new words. But when I try a newspaper crossword puzzle, I eventually get to the place where I want to throw the paper down and jump up and down on it or rip it into tiny pieces with my teeth. I hate them. But I want to do them. What's wrong with me, anyway? With my background, I should be able to do a crossword puzzle. Besides, I read somewhere that doing crossword puzzles would prevent Alzheimer's disease.
My husband came home one day toting a book of "fun and easy" crossword puzzles with--and here is the best part--the answers in the back. He caught me leafing through it. Saw my eyes light up. He saw me pick up a pencil and lick the tip. "It's my book," he said, and grabbed it. He informed me in no uncertain terms that he didn't want me even touching it.
So I went out and got my own easy crossword puzzle book with the answers in the back. A friend told me this is the way to start. She said I would eventually be able to leap into the newspaper puzzles with confidence, if I just started with the easy ones. I had a goal. I had hope. I just needed to start slow and easy, build my way up to the big newspaper puzzle. I'll just take these books one at a time and build my way up.
So I start. One-across, a five-letter word for "make broader." I write in widen. One-down, a five-letter word for "skin growths" that begins with a W. Warts. Eleven-across, a five-letter word for "heroism." Hmmmm, hmmmmm, hmmmmm. Let me just peek in the back--valor. Good. Now 11-down, a five-letter word for "steam" that begins with V. Vapor. Got that one. This just might work. And on it goes. I look up at least half of the words, but I get to fill in all the little squares. I notice some repeats in subsequent puzzles and figure I'll build up a stack of words that repeat. There must be a bunch of those.
I figure this is the beginning of a whole new world for me, and I will also be combating Alzheimer's.
At first, I keep the book on my nightstand. I crawl in bed, get out my pencil and go to it. I finish one puzzle and decide I will just do a couple of words of the next puzzle in the book. Pretty soon, I'm halfway through that one. OK, I'll just finish it. My husband groans because he wants the light out. "OK, just one more," I say to him, licking the tip of the pencil. I vow I won't do this again the next night because I'm not getting enough sleep. Next night, same thing.
So I put the book on the end table in the family room. About 15 minutes before time to head off to bed, I pick up the book. Just one puzzle, I decide.
My husband heads off to bed. "I'll be up soon," I tell him. OK, just one more. Just one more. Just one more. I'm still looking up at least half of the answers, but I figure I'm gaining on this thing.
I find myself sleeping late in the morning, rushing to get ready for work, wondering if I should stop working the puzzles. Am I developing an addiction?
Maybe there's a crossword puzzles anonymous meeting somewhere. But wait, there's the Alzheimer's thing. OK, I've got to think of another place to put the book. Maybe the bathroom.
Sandy Sims is the editor of The Sun. Contact her at 408.200.1055 or via email, ssims@svcn.com.
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