WHERE IS SHIRLEY?

I have a new friend named, Joyce. She told me that she took a minor tumble and hit her knee, but it was okay because her knee is made of titanium. I told her that she is the first person I have ever met who has a museum knee. The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, designed by architect, Frank Gehry is constructed out of titanium, glass and limestone.  As far as I know, Joyce’s knee does not contain glass or limestone. However, her knee did remind me of an adventure I had, on a cruise that arrived in Bilbao, Spain.

I arrived in New York a day before the cruise, where I met five women who would be sailing with me—two sisters and three of their friends.  However, shortly after I met them, one of the women fell and broke her arm, so now there were—two sisters and two of their friends. 
Unfortunately, one of the other women cut her foot on a piece of glass, and, because she was on blood thinners, she had to go to the hospital. Now, there were three women left—the two sisters and Shirley.

One of the highlights of the trip was our tour to the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao.  I remember that the outside titanium walls of the Museum moved when they were touched. I don’t remember any of the exhibits inside, but making a wall move with my hand was certainly memorable. After the tour, I returned to the ship with the other passengers.

The two sisters invited me to join them at High Tea at 4:00 p.m. where they also planned to meet up with Shirley.  All passengers were required to be aboard ship at 4:00 p.m because the ship was scheduled to leave at 5:00 p.m. 4:00 p.m. came and went, but Shirley did not show up, so after checking her cabin one of the sisters reported her missing.  Then  every ten minutes the announcements began; “ “Shirley, in cabin….please report to the Reception Desk.”
Then the rumors began, “Maybe, she jumped overboard,”  “Maybe, she was pushed”  Maybe, she was kidnapped.”

It was now 5:00 p.m and the tide was calling so we had to depart. A member of the staff got off the ship to search for missing Shirley. Finally, an announcement calmed everyone that Shirley had been found in Bilbao. What was not told was that she was found sitting in a hotel room where she had complained to the concierge that her luggage had been stolen.

Before the cruise,  Shirley had put a sea-sickness patch behind her ear, but being Shirley, she surmised that two patches would be better than one, and consequently, she began to hallucinate.  Naturally, after this mishap, Shirley was not allowed to re-board the ship anywhere, so her son-in-law had to fly to Dublin (our next stop) to pick her up.  Unfortunately, the weather turned bad, and the sea turned rough, so we weren’t’ allowed to enter the port, but the two sisters did wave a not-so-fond farewell to Shirley— as well as— her extremely rain soaked and  aggravated- looking son-in-law.

Esther Blumenfeld

CURIOSITY

Recently, someone said, “I don’t understand banks. Why do they attach chains to their pens? If I trust them with my money, why don’t they trust me with their pens?” I had no answer for his question, but I did immediately recognize the evidence of an inquisitive mind, since I have one myself.

Years ago, I was curious about how I could defend myself in a sticky situation, so I signed up for a self-defense class. The teacher was a burly, retired police officer. He wore protective gear while demonstrating how to raise a knee, break a nose and gouge an eye.  After I asked a few questions such as, “Wouldn’t it be easier just to give him my wallet?” and “Could I get sued if I hurt him?” the officer finally said, “Don’t ask. Just do it!”

After a few lessons, it was time for the final exam that involved throwing the policeman to the floor when he attacked me.  I took one look at the masked attacker, grabbed my purse and ran out of the building.  Yes, I flunked the course, but I did learn to always look behind me when someone is following me.  I have met the nicest people that way.

My son, Josh, is always dismayed when I talk to strangers, but I am just not good at building walls. The thing about walls is that I always want to know what’s behind them.  Every person is unique and has his, or her, own story, which---if you are a good listener--- they are usually willing to share. And, often, I can learn something of value. My goal is to learn one new thing a day, and, if I have done that, it’s an accomplishment.

For instance, when I see people looking at something on the hiking trail, I always ask, “What do you see?” They are happy to share the spotting of a deer hidden in the foliage, or a rare bird on a branch, or a snake sitting on top of a cactus. “How can a snake climb up there without getting impaled on those prickly spines?” Good question! Thick skin.

In my adventures, I have run into a variety of people. One day, I endeared myself to a scantily clothed, young woman, posing for a magazine photo, when I gave her a spritz of bug spray. I have bandaged a bleeding knee on a kid from Alaska, and I said “Hello” in Chinese (the only Chinese word I know that sounds like Knee How) to a woman doing Tai Chi. She followed me all the way back to my car chattering in Chinese. Needless to say, I didn’t learn much from that exchange, except that nodding sagely seems to work.

I usually ask camera-toting visitors if they’d like a group photo. The photo taker is always so pleased to be included in the picture. One day, I told a man to join the group. He said, “I don’t know those people.” So I said, “Well, get in the picture anyway,” and he did. Years from now, no matter how inquisitive they are, those people still won’t recognize him.

Children have an annoying habit of asking, “Why? Why? Why?” and adults have an annoying habit of replying, “Because. Because. Because” The children are curious, but eventually find out that parents don’t have all the answers.

As I get older, life gets, as Lewis Carroll said, “Curiouser and curiouser.”
With modern technology information is instantaneous. Unfortunately, too often, as Oscar Wilde observed, “The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing.”

There are so many questions still to be asked, and I’m sure many answers will be found, but sometimes people want to discourage those with inquisitive minds by recounting the proverb, “Curiosity killed the cat.”  However, few people remember that, “satisfaction brought it back.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Curiosity killed the cat, but for awhile I was a suspect”) Steven Wright.

MUSIC AND SOOTHING SAVAGE BEASTS

I was born into a very musical family. My father wooed my mother by playing the violin beneath her window. He played well enough that she married him, and happily they didn’t end up like Romeo and Juliet.

My mother had a beautiful singing voice (better than the one she used when she chased me around the dining room table, with her slipper, shouting, “Act like a lady!”  And, her father (my grandfather) was a concert-trained pianist, whose father had told him that he would disown him if he sought a musical career.

My little brother didn’t inherit much of the musical gene, but he enjoyed sliding down the banister, and jumping on the piano keys on his way to the floor. However, in middle school, he did play the bag bass drum in the marching band, which was bigger than he was.  The school couldn’t afford summer uniforms, so he marched in the summer parade in his winter uniform. All we could see was a big loud drum coming down the street behind two flatulent horses.

Unfortunately, a talent for music was not to be one of my gifts. My parents paid dearly for my piano lessons, but I wore out three teachers before they admitted that their daughter was a total failure as a pianist. I had a problem coordinating the keys with the foot pedals. It didn’t help much when after a ten-minute practice, my musical mother would yell from the kitchen, “That’s enough!  Go out and play.”

So, to help me develop an appreciation for classical music, my parents took me to symphonic concerts when I was a very little girl. I liked the “pretty music” but usually fell asleep before the concert was over. As a child, I felt like Woody Allen who said, “I just can’t listen to anymore Wagner, you know…I’m starting to get the urge to conquer Poland.”

When I was a pre-teen, I heard that there was going to be a local scheduled singing contest for children on the radio. I wanted to enter singing a simple popular song, “In My Little Alice Blue Gown.” Instead, my stern grandfather insisted that I sing “Habanera”, the most popular aria from Bizet’s opera, CARMEN. 

No practice had been scheduled at the radio station. When I handed the pianist music from the aria, he just looked at me and dropped ashes from his cigarette onto the piano keys. When it was my turn, the piano player and I started the musical experience together, and we mercifully ended the song together---but we hadn’t done too well in-between. When I got home, it was the first time I ever saw my strict grandfather smile---or maybe it was a grimace. To this day, I will never know.

I have always enjoyed music---all kinds of music. I enjoy Beethoven, Bach and Mozart, and I love jazz even though Frank Zappa said, “Jazz isn’t dead. It just smells funny.” I like country music, because I can make up some funny lyrics along the way, and I love going to the simulcasts of the Metropolitan operas, even though my tuchas (look it up) still can’t manage 8 hours of Wagner.

I occasionally sing songs in Hebrew to herds of deer in the mountains. I’m not sure they feel soothed, but they do pause, raise their heads, and give me soulful looks that seem to say, “You can keep it up, Lady, just don’t eat our food.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“For those of you in the cheap seats, I’d like ya to clap your hands to this one; the rest of you can just rattle your jewelry.”) John Lennon

MARY'S FOLLY

MARY’S FOLLY

My friend, Mary may have low vision, but she makes up for it with extremely high energy and enthusiasm. She hangs with a crowd of women who have no idea what “old” means, and they approach life with vim and vigor. They snub their noses at anyone who calls them “elderly”. 

One of Mary’s pals, Joan, recently had a hip replaced, so she suggested that her friends bring the cards and poker chips to her house, as she cried, “Let the games begin!”

Since Mary can’t drive, Gloria, her 92-year-old compatriot picked her up, along with another player, and they began the trek to Joan’s house, which is far, far away, on the other side of the moon. Bossy Mary took the co-pilot seat, and, although she can’t see that well, she played navigator all the way.

When they got to Joan’s house, and drove up the beautiful curving drive, Gloria said, “Look at that lovely yard. Isn’t it great how Joan’s husband, Buddy takes care of everything.”  The three women, of seasoned years, all got out of the car, carrying their bags of cards and poker chips, and rang the doorbell. After waiting for a few minutes, Mary rang the bell again.

Finally, the door opened, and a big man, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, with his hairy legs exposed, said, “Sorry it took me so long, but we are in the shower.”
Mary said, “Oh, Buddy, you’re looking so good,” and she gave him a big hug. Whereupon she walked into the house and said, “Sorry, we’re early.”

Stopping her, before she could go any further, Gloria said, “Mary, that’s not Buddy. Buddy is a lot shorter than this man. We’re at the wrong house.” Happily, Gloria caught up with her before Mary got to the bathroom. After all, she wasn’t wearing a shower cap. 

I never did find out who was in the shower with that man, but I suspect that he is still in shock---standing there in his comfy robe, with his hairy legs sticking out---wondering, “What in the Hell just happened?”

Sometimes life is just like that.

Esther Blumenfeld

TALK TO ME

In Europe, most people speak more than one language. That’s because when you cross the street, you are in another country. Jarod Kintz said, “What does it matter if you can speak two or more languages, if you have nothing original to say in any language?” He might be right. Politicians all over the world speak gibberish in different languages. To paraphrase one American Congressman, I find those people “untrustable.”

Once, in the Houston airport, I had a conversation, in my fractured Spanish, with a woman traveling to Honduras. She said her flight was going to take three hours. If my Spanish numbers were wrong, that flight would take either 13 or 30 hours. Spanish is not the only language that I butcher. I speak menu French and can say, “Bonjour, Merci, Au Revoir and Toilette” Toilette is a most important word. When I was in Viet Nam, I asked a sales lady for directions to the bathroom. She couldn’t figure out why I wanted to take a bath in the department store. That’s when I found out that Charades is a very good game in any language.

Unless I am reading the words very slowly, Hebrew is still a dead language to me. But reading from right to left has to surprise my brain a bit---which is supposed to be a good thing. My German is the German language of a three- year- old child, because that’s when I was thrown out of Germany. I took German in college and brought tears to my teacher’s eyes.  I’m not sure if it’s because I used some words I had learned from my Grandmother, or because my linguistic skill was so bad.

When I studied conversational Spanish (for the third time) my teacher would ask me a question in Spanish. Then when I replied, she usually said, “Whoa! Where did you get that word?” And, I’d have to admit, “I made it up.” What’s the difference? No one usually listens anyway when people talk.  

English is one of the most difficult languages to learn. Yet, so many people, other than Americans, speak it well. George Bernard Shaw said, “England and America are two countries separated by the same language.” He was right. The English always sound so intelligent.  How smart are they? It was cold when I went to London, and I wanted to buy a sweater. No one knew what I was talking about. A saleslady finally said, “You want a jumper!”  I said, “I didn’t know you sold horses at Harrods.”
 
Here’s what I have learned about language:

1. Everyone has an accent. It depends where you are when you are speaking.
2. Toddlers can speak Chinese.
3. A foreign language is helpful, if you don’t want children to know what you are talking about.
4. For some people, speaking the truth is a foreign language.
5. Talking to teenagers is impossible in any language.
6. It’s fun to speak another language, and the more languages you speak the more friends you can make. So, learn a foreign language. It’s good for the brain and the funny bone—especially if you are misunderstood.

In a Budapest Zoo the sign read:
“Please do not feed the animals. If you have any suitable food, give it to the guard.”

In a hotel lobby in Bucharest:
“The lift is being fixed for the next day. During that time we regret that you will be unbearable.”-----However, I may add, not as much as the Superintendent of Schools in Arizona!


Esther Blumenfeld (“Ladies are requested not to have children in the bar.”) Cocktail Lounge in Norway