FIGURATIVE OIL PAINTINGS, cards and writing 

James K. Kiefer, Sr.

A few thoughts about Zaab ... You can read his obit  (click on James Kimble Kiefer, Sr.) via the funeral home website. That will tell you what he was, but I think I might be able to shed a little light on who he was. I am, after all, "Daughter of Zaab". So who is "Zaabo"? ... Zaabo is a name that came about in the late 70s. It describes him perfectly. To simply refer to him as "dad" never quite seemed to cut it. He was more like a, well, a Zaabo. His father, Doc, was a successful man in his "mature" years, but he earned his living as a barker in the Ringling Brothers Circus (before he married Zaabo's mother, Clara). You know about barkers ... the men who stood on a stage outside the big tent, luring in their prey, (I mean, customers) to buy snake oil or to sell tickets to see the bearded lady. Well, the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Zaab and his older brother, Morris, spent their years in the Navy finding ways to play practical jokes on unsuspecting and very nice people. For instance, on the dance floor, both Zaab and Morris were dancing with their sweet, unsuspecting partners. As they both whirled their dates around the dance floor, Zaab positioned himself behind his brother's date, goosed her, then whirled away to the other side of the room. Morris' date slapped him (Morris) thinking he had done the dirty deed. Another example of Zaab's antics was when he was a young boy. He became aware that a very cute little girl had "eyes" for him. He carefully packed an Easter basket with dog poop, put the usual Easter basket stuffing over it, dropped it on her doorstep, rang the doorbell, then hid behind a bush to witness the little girl's reaction. The girl's mother opened the door to find this lovely Easter basket with a note on top. The mother called to her daughter saying, "Look, someone left you an Easter basket, dear." Excitedly, the little girl picked it up and dove her hand into it. Bursting into tears, she said, "But, Mommy, it's sh*****t.  Waaaa."  My dad laughed about that for YEARS. Somewhere, there's a photo of his brother, Morris, with a gorilla mask on, bare bellied, and their father, Doc, donning a Native American wig with a a blank expression. It wasn't Halloween. It was just, what, Tuesday? What does that mean? I have no idea, but there must be something to genetics. I ask you, how does one follow an act like that? My mother, De, was mostly a serious person, very capable and very maternal. My brother, Jim, and I tended to be more like that. Why? Because Zaabo was the funnyman, we were his straightmen. He never raised his voice to anyone. He would burst into song ... "Hello my honey, hello my baby, hello my ragtime gal ... send me a kiss by wire ... oh, how my heart's on fire ...". He would suddenly hop in the air while we strolled together down a crowded grocery store aisle. He told jokes like a pro. Most everyone knew him to be like that, but he was also highly intelligent, a very good writer and he painted ... One painting he did was stunning. He sold it and painted another just like it and another, each selling as soon as he could frame it. The subject was a paper bag with lemons pouring out. Not terribly interesting normally, but there were no shadows beneath the fruit. They appeared to be floating. (Wish I had a picture for you.) He and my mother showed their work at many art fairs over the years, especially in the 60s and 70s. After my mother died in '76, he didn't do much in the way of shows, but kept painting. Not long ago, he told me on the phone (after seeing pix of my recent paintings) that I was "getting pretty good at that". That was high praise coming from the master of floating lemons. The thing about Zaab was that he didn't much like being old. I had been complaining to him about turning 57. He said, "Boy, I wish I was 57 again. Hell, I wish I was 80 again!". Yeah, he went peacefully in his sleep while receiving dialysis (one month before his 93rd birthday). The thing is, he never lost his mind the way he was supposed to. He was mentally clear as a bell. We talked current politics on the phone regularly. He did crossword puzzles relentlessly. His hobby, even through his early 90s, was soldering together complicated circuit boards that resulted in the movements of mini robots and small cars. He built all of us (including my mother) go-carts out of Briggs-Stratton lawnmower parts when I was young. When I was in my early 20s, a friend of mine drove my VW with the alternator light on. The engine was ruined. Zaab rebuilt it. I continued to drive it for another 22 years. He loved the casino. About 9 years ago, I took him to a casino in Oregon. We had a blast, but his legs were, in his words, "wobbly". That didn't keep him from trying to beat the house at the slot machines, though. He relished the idea of some buxom babe in a scanty casino outfit making a to-do over him as the slot machine's siren alerted all to his jackpot win. (Not beyond belief. This happened once at Harrah's in Tahoe.) She sat on his lap, stroking his curly hair, in front of the admiring crowd. Somehow I doubt his love for casinos had much to do with money. I'll miss watching him laugh most of all. For those of you who knew him, you'll remember how he would throw his head way back, close his eyes and laugh with that gentle, raspy tenor voice as if there was no tomorrow. Then later, whatever made him laugh would pass through his mind again and he'd start laughing all over again, harder. Hours later, he'd think of it again, and on and on, making anyone in the room laugh, too. You could say that, in his hayday, he was the handsome-est man in the room. He had a wildly imaginative, naughty, dry sense of humor, but he was loving, never mean and was always upbeat. The people at the dialysis clinic said that he was "a real gentleman". Yeah, I guess he was that, too, and he proved to be, as I call it, "semi-immortal". I've met a lot of people in my life and I can easily say that there's been no one quite like him and never will. I'll miss him with all of my heart and so will many others. All my love, Kiefer ps - People wonder why I prefer to be called by my last name. Well, this should explain it.