Shirley and I have recently renewed our interest in jigsaw puzzles, as have some of our fellow Residents here at Westminster Village, Scottsdale,, so I was interested in learning the history of jigsaw puzzling. Not being especially trustful of a Google search, I searched my own mind and found this:
Once upon a time, Og, the local Neanderthal artist, had just finished scratching out a reasonable rendering of the neighborhood Mastodon on sandstone (some say slate, but archaeologists aren’t too agreeable on the subject of the media used), when the baby of the family, Uzzle, grabbed it. Before anyone reacted to the sudden display of agility by the toddler, the artwork had been tossed into the air (such an early display of hand speed!) and fell to the ground, which would ultimately be named Earth. It broke into pieces. Og, confounded by emotions of awe at the strength of his progeny and anger at the destroyer of his masterpiece, was about to kick the numerous pieces into a neighbor’s domicile (cave, to us). However, his domicile mate, Egr, showing signs of her own degree of artistic talent, picked up the various sized pieces and proceeded to assemble them in proper order. She had placed the oddly shaped pieces on a bed of soft mud, which quickly hardened (they were living in an area of dry climate soon to be named Ogizona), cementing them in place. Egr quickly named this new creation, Egruzzle, unselfishly giving some credit to her offspring. Centuries later, two archaeologists, Jigger and Sawdler by name, were amazed to discover this assemblage in a dark, dry cave (once considered a domicile). Until carbon dating, and several visits to a local palm reader, the Neanderthal source was finally realized. The secret of the origin of these puzzles, eventually named in honor of the two discoverers, has been a closely guarded secret – until now.