Zeeg Ziegler, My Imaginary Friend

        One day the windshield of reality hit me, full speed, like I was a mosquito in its path on the turnpike of life.  The world had become crazy, and reason had taken on new definition.  Up meant down and vice versa…former good was now evil, and politically correct spelled corruption.  I saw moral decay, and little guys being tromped on by big corporations.  I saw the devious rich and the devastated discarded poor.  I saw folks living on the streets. I saw cheating wives and lying husbands.  I saw marriage becoming a thing of the past along with daddies. I saw dogs and cats put down, and kids sold for drugs.  I saw too much.  That was when I snapped, crackled and popped like a bowl of Rice Crispies, which was also becoming a thing of the past with the corruption of sugar filled snack cereals laced with red dye, and that is when I met Zeeg.  I decided that if the world was going to be crazy, I’d jump in with two feet, grab my whistle and confetti, and join the party.  I was in for the ride.  I said, “Lord, you know I know you have a plan, and it is for good in my life and everyone elses, and I trust and love you with all my heart…what is left of it that hasn’t been stomped on, broken and fed to the dogs, but I got a plan too.  I’m going to invent myself a good friend with some good sense who will bring some humor into my life and help me keep my bootstraps up during these rough times.  I know the word says that you are there in good times and in bad times and I ought to be turning to you, but being as you gave me one whopper of an imagination, I’m going to put it to good use, and I hope you won’t be offended.  Anyway, if I’ve gone round the bend, if my cheese has slipped off the cracker, if my card deck is not quite at 52, and my elevator doesn’t reach the top floor for doing what I’m about to do, I know you will not count it as offensive, and figure you’d probably just consider it an overestimate on your part of what you eyeballed as a load I could carry that was a few bricks too heavy after all, referring to your promise of not giving us what we couldn’t handle.”

        To buffer any offenses I might be laying at the feet of God in my premeditated confessions of conformity to a wacky world, I decided to make my new “seen by only me guru companion and friend” Jewish.  I always appreciated Jewish humor and Jews have culturally persevered through much. I needed a tough guy. Furthermore, they are a wise people, and I needed someone to give me a clue and set me straight when I was picking my battles.  I needed a friend with perspective…someone who could discern piss ants from elephants. The economy had lent itself to my condition.  It was devastating to see homelessness.  Prices were going up. I needed to make sound financial decisions. Therefore, I needed someone to step on the brakes when my spending got out of hand.  And I loved stories.  My new Jewish friend would have to be up in years so he’d have lots of good stories with his good counsel and his good humor.  Yep…I had a plan.  Call it creative survival if you want to be kind.  But it worked.  And with that, after some consideration, Zeeg came into my life.

        Zeeg Ziegler was a great guy.  He had a little gray beard and he was skinny.  His eyes were light blue and they twinkled under his scull cap. Zeeg was not only a Jew, he was a traditionally devout one and he wore a white scull cap 6 days a week and on Friday night after the 2nd star appeared in the sky, he’d put a black one on and pray for Israel.  I only saw him do this once, but he spoke of it in our conversations.  He said “Prayer, Jen, not only blesses those who are prayed for but blesses the one who prays.”  He also wore one of those little bib like things over his chest and back that he referred to as his four fringed garment that would help him remember certain promises of his faith.  Other than that, Zeeg looked pretty normal. He wore brown baggy pants and a light blue solid color shirt that professed neither poverty nor wealth. His face was angular and his nose a bit large, as were his hands.  They were strong hands that had seen much labor.  Zeeg was somewhat bent over with age, but tall in stature otherwise because of his inner grace.  When he spoke it was eloquent and he chose his words carefully.  Zeeg had an accent.  His greetings when I called on him were cheery and usually in Hebrew.  Bucca Tov for good morning….Sha ha ryan tov for good afternoon…and lyla tov for good evening.  Most of the time Zeeg and I would chat before I went to work at breakfast time.  I’d pour my orange juice and put a plate of bacon and eggs on the table and Zeeg would appear and say something like, “Bucca tov Jen.  I see you have a lovely breakfast in front of you.  God is being good to you, is he not?” and with that he’d put a cup of mint tea to his lips.  Zeeg loved mint tea.

        Then he’d say something like, “My my!  Such a splendid healthy body you have too, enabling you to rise and shine and press forward into the world to bring the joy of books to little children and old people…to bring a smile to a stranger.  Do you suppose you should be putting bacon into that body.  You are an intelligent woman.  I am surprised Jen.”  It was at these times that Zeeg’s eyes would twinkle most.  I must admit that after he came into my life I ate a lot more chicken and fish and lost a few pounds besides.  Zeeg was good at Jewish guilt, when it came to my well-being.  On the mornings I’d have oatmeal and toast, he’d comment on my good choice of fuel to enable me to forge into the awaiting adventures of the day…”food for good thoughts and choices” he’d say, and Zeeg would dish up his own bowl and join me.”

        Zeeg had family and friends who were lost in the Holocaust.  His stories of courage and grief gave perspective to my own personal pity parties of life.  He had an uncle who was a rabbi, and his extended family had pooled their funds to pay his safe exit out of Poland. In the end, the secreted family, including four children, was murdered and the money was confiscated by the enemy.  Zeeg says that even the emperor who wears purple silk has sackcloth underwear beneath his finery.  He said that in order for a man to carry on after a time of devastating circumstances he must surrender his personal history and not look back.  I took this to heart and knew Zeeg was right. Once he took my hand and looked me straight in the eye and said pensively, “Jen, old heartaches, injustices and choices gone wrong are best left in the junk yard of God’s grace where they can be recycled into better tomorrows with new vision.  Abandon the past.”  During one of our lighter moments, Zeeg told my favorite story about the mongrel dog owned by his family when he was a boy.  I only know he was a large dog and his name was Jack.  Jack was quite clever and would take a basket containing a note to the butcher’s market across town and get meat for supper.  He carried the basket by holding the handle in his mouth.  Mrs. Ziegler had an account with the butcher, who expected Jack and would always give him a tidbit of lamb for a task well done.  The butcher would then wrap the meat in paper and place it in the basket.  Jack would trot the distance home, crossing a bridge on his way.  I could see it all well as Zeeg reminisced, rolled his blue eyes, and smiled. Zeeg’s mother salted the meat to prepare it for kosher cooking upon it’s arrival.  Jack, then, stood guard by the table keeping the family cat from stealing the meat, barking loudly when she tried.  Zeeg gave me a perspective of horse and carriage days in a very personal world.  He soothed my soul with his humor and tales after many a weary day.

        Zeeg is at his best when we go to the supermarket.  He observes people and makes comments that show deep insight.  He scrutinizes the contents of other people’s baskets and remembers his mother Isadora with little stories that leave me laughing.  At times I forget that I am the only one who can see Zeeg, and I suppose the other customers think I am bananas.  Well, I suppose they are right.  But they are the ones missing out.  That’s the way I see it.  I imagine it is especially bazaar to the beholder when I pick up one item and then put it back and get another of the same.  Zeeg always finds the better deal.  I usually end up with way too much fresh produce when he is along, but I know he has the best of intentions in mind for me.  He is so much fun.  When we go up to the check out stand, Zeeg will tap me on the shoulder and whisper, “Now don’t forget to tell the young man here how great the prices were on melons.  Show your appreciation for a good buy.”  Once a young checker at Trader Joe’s said he was having a rather bad day, and commented on how good the chocolate bar I bought looked. Zeeg tapped me on the shoulder and said, “open it now and offer him the first piece.  He looks like he could use a taste of chocolate for encouragement.”  The clerk was delighted, and took me up on the offer.  I can tell I am now one of his favorite customers, and he has, since, had other tidbits from my cart basket.  He says I sure am a nice lady.  Somehow, we make each other’s day.

        Zeeg is pretty cool.  I wish you could see him.  I wish you could meet him.  If you try real hard, I bet you can.  What a character he is!  Shalom! 

        With fond memories of Abraham Uslander, an inspiration for this creative story assignment,  who prayed for Israel daily, taught me Hebrew phrases, customs of his faith, told me the story of Jack the dog and made "kiddish" on Friday nights  at his dinner table with blackberry Mogan David Wine...good stuff.... as the second star in the sky appeared, welcoming the Sabath.  

Todo Rabah...thank-you!