Assembling a jigsaw puzzle is the ultimate escape. It’s engaging but not taxing, and with one thousand pieces, it requires time and patience.

Conversely, I had neither time nor patience throughout December, yet I started assembling a puzzle anyway, and once done, I started another one.

Studies suggest that puzzles increase the production of dopamine, a chemical that regulates mood, memory, and concentration. Once I cracked open the puzzle box, the sorting began, and the list of things I needed to do fell by the wayside. A spell had been cast, one puzzle piece at a time.

Most of the time, I’m an organized and capable person, so I’m uncomfortable feeling this scattered. I planned to make Christmas cards this year and had the supplies. Making cards and corresponding with friends is a joy. I eventually sat down at my crafting table and created a dozen cards, but by day’s end, fatigue won out, and most of my cards remained unsent.

I made one card, using scraps, to join Kate’s ScrapHappy blog hop mid-December, but I lacked the time to create a post.

Earlier in the year, I set aside vintage Christmas postage to make a card from a friend’s stash. You guessed it: finished but unsent.

And Permits? How did that get into the title?

It’s a long and tedious story, so here’s my attempt at brevity. The space between the sidewalk and the street, known locally as the sidewalk strip, is the homeowner’s responsibility, but the City governs usage. When we bought our home nearly thirty years ago, we inherited a strip of lawn. We applied for a permit and planted a “street tree.” During the worst of the drought years, we removed the lawn. Mike built a planter box in its place, and I’ve happily planted seasonal flowers, tomatoes, and whatever else wanted to self-seed there for many years.

In the last decade, the tree declined. We applied for a permit to replace the tree. The City denied our request, saying the tree wasn’t sick enough. City workers came through this spring and pruned every tree on the block to prepare for road work, leaving a sickly tree in its wake. They approved our second request to remove and replace the tree.

Two weeks later, we received a Repair Notice and Permit saying we had to remove the planting box, calling it a tripping hazard. I’ll share more details in a future post, but suffice it to say I’m sad, disappointed, and, for a time, overwhelmed by the amount of work it would take to dismantle my beloved curb garden, not to mention the expense.

The City gave us thirty days to remove the tree, the planting box, and all the soil and gravel, plants, bulbs, and irrigation that went with it. When I called, they offered an extension but refused to budge on the planter.

I can always send those Christmas cards next year.

It’s time to start a new puzzle.