It’s puzzling

My family puzzles me.

With puzzles.

When I was growing up, The Flying Scottolines were obsessed with puzzles.

Mother Mary did the New York Times crossword every day, in red Flair pen. She would never ask for help, and nobody else was allowed to write in the squares.

I was fine with that.

Because honestly, I love puzzles but I’m not great at them. They’re the ultimate test of patience, which I lack.

She used to say I had ants in my pants.

There’s a visual.

My brother did jigsaw puzzles, and he could just look at a piece to know where it belonged. I would stare at a piece for hours and never understand. And my father played postal chess, which was a thing in those days. You would make a chess move, write it on a postcard, then mail the postcard to whomever you were playing with, who would mail you their chess move, which took about seven days.

Can you imagine?

I don’t think that level of patience exists anymore, and I didn’t inherit it.

I shout at microwaves.

Of course I gave birth to a daughter who loves puzzles and has the patience of all the Scottolines combined. She plays the Spelling Bee on her phone, which is a puzzle where you form words from random letters. When she was home during the pandemic, she’d want us to do it together.

What’s a four-letter word for uh-oh?

Depending on how many words you form, the Spelling Bee puzzle has levels. You start at Beginner and go through Good Start, Moving Up, Good, Solid, Nice, Great, Amazing, and Genius.

Francesca doesn’t stop until she gets Genius.

Where would you stop?

What are you?

Good, right?

Maybe Solid. Or Nice.

After all, I’m Nice.

But Great?

I don’t need a puzzle to tell me I’m Great. Or maybe I do, but that would require a lot of head-scratching over words.

Me, I stop at Good.

I mean, what’s bad about Good?

Good is great!

Well, not exactly Great, but Good Enough.

One night Francesca suggested we do the puzzle at the same time and then compare notes. I can tell you exactly how that went:

Bad.

And there are times when the puzzle cheats you. For example, the other day I put in empath, and the puzzle said it was not a word.

Empath is a word, and the puzzle was wrong.

But it gives no right of appeal. It doesn’t care.

In other words, it’s not an empath.

And the other day, it said that dino was a word.

Dino is not a word.

Gimme a break.

Another rule is “no cussing.”

Seriously.

You know what?

I cussed over dino.

Not only that, but there is a topmost level called Queen Bee, which is when you get all the words.

The directions don’t even tell you about Queen Bee.

What kind of game keeps its rules a secret?

To be Queen Bee, you have to be in the know.

You have to be Queen Bee to be Queen Bee.

Another secret thing is called the Pangram, which is when you find a word that uses all the letters.

You can’t get to be Queen Bee unless you find the Pangram, and at this point, it’s all gobbledygook because I never get anywhere near those levels.

I don’t even try.

I can’t tell if I’m saving time or saving face, or maybe I truly don’t care enough.

I work all day long and I get paid to form words.

If someone isn’t paying me, I stop at Good.

If you want Genius, I want a check.

If you ask me, that’s Queen Bee.

Look for Lisa’s best-selling historical novel, “Eternal,” in stores now. Also look for Francesca’s critically acclaimed debut novel, “Ghosts of Harvard,” now in paperback.