DREAM ON

Many years ago, when I graduated from the University of Michigan, I was informed that I had an over-abundance of credits in philosophy, psychology and English. Because of University policy, I could only claim two of those areas of study as “minors”. I can’t remember which two I selected. However, I do remember immersing myself in the works of Sigmund Freud, and discovering early on that the good doctor had provided himself escape hatches to some of his theories involving dreams.

I remember clearly that he wrote, “All dreams are wish fulfillment, attempts of the unconscious to resolve a conflict of some sort---something recent or from the past.” Then he covered his butt by discussing dreams that “do not appear to be wish fulfillment.” Whew!

When I worked full-time as a deadline writer, my friend Nancy, who was an artist used to call me and describe her dreams. They appeared to her in vivid colors, and then she would translate them to canvas. I kept my mouth shut during these glowing descriptions, because my dreams consisted of words running across a piece of paper, and they were in black and white. All night long, I dreamed words and more words. I never knew if the occasional “cha-ching” was the paper moving through my dream machine, or my husband’s snoring. A few times, I woke up and scribbled something on a piece of paper in the dark, but it never made any sense in the morning since I couldn’t read what I had written.

One of the most famous dream stories is the one about Jacob, who put a stone under his head, fell asleep and dreamed of angels running up and down a golden ladder. If I had put a stone under my head, I’m sure I wouldn’t have such a dazzling dream, but rather I would have awakened with a headache and a very stiff neck.

In his early works, Freud would have found a sexual connotation to Jacob’s dream, but in his Interpretation of Dreams (Fifth edition, 1919, Chapter 6, Section E) Freud said that he never claimed that all dreams require sexual interpretation. At some point he even said, “Even a cigar may be just a cigar.” Rest easy, Jacob!

So, why all of this talk about dreams? It’s because for the first time in my life, I had a colorful geometric dream, and this is a big deal for someone who almost flunked geometry. I dreamed of a solid, golden sculpture made of squares, triangles and rectangles---gleaming in the distant sunlight. I woke up feeling good.

My first impulse was to call my broker to advise him to invest in gold bricks, but I thought better of that. Don’t know why I dreamed it, or why I remember it, but I suspect that my dream was more Tiffany than Freud.

Nightmares are a different kind of dream. When my nephew was a very little boy, he had a bad dream about monsters in his closet. I told him that I would stuff them into my suitcase and take them home with me. Now that he is an avant-garde artist in New York, I guess I should ask him if he wants them back.

Actors have nightmares about forgetting their lines on stage. With some plays, that might not be such a bad thing. I often have nightmares about my computer, and I’m not even asleep. The best dreams are those that when you wake up and have to think, “Did that really happen?”

Joseph, a prisoner in Pharaoh’s hoosegow had the best political dream. He dreamed about 7 fat cows that were eaten by 7 lean cows, and 7 fat ears of grain eaten by 7 lean ones. Joseph got out of prison when he predicted that a famine was coming. Pharaoh put enough grain aside to save his people and Joseph became something like Vice President of Egypt.
 
And, I learned that grain has ears.

Esther Blumenfeld (Sleep tight, but first check the mattress for bedbugs)

PRETTY IS AS PRETTY DOES

My eyes always glaze over when visiting my favorite used bookstore. So many books! So little time! Naturally, I wasn’t paying attention as I rounded a corner and almost ran my shopping cart into two young women approaching from the opposite direction. First, I apologized, and then I stared. I had never, in all my years, seen two bodies totally covered from head to toe with colorful tattoos. As far as I could see, there was no skin space left untouched.

I pointed behind me and said, “The tattoo books are that way.” “Thanks,” said one of the young girls. “How did you know that’s what we were looking for?” “I’m psychic,” I replied. “That’s awesome!” said the other girl. She was the one with the tarantula on her exposed cleavage. I walked away wondering how far down that hairy spider would slip as gravity beckoned in coming years.

Obviously, perceptions of beauty differ. Judge Judy got it right when she said, “Beauty fades---dumb is forever.”

My mother was a very beautiful woman. She was the whole package with jet-black hair, a patrician nose, sapphire blue eyes and flawless alabaster skin. As she aged, her hair evolved into a white wavy cloud, but people still commented on her beauty. However, she began to worry about the “laugh lines” around her eyes. A friend told her that dabbing a moistened rectal suppository on those wrinkles would make them disappear. One morning, as he walked into the bathroom, my father discovered this ritual, and commented, “Dear, I think you are putting that stick in the wrong place.”

I don’t know who said that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but he must have qualified it with “Love is blind.” Mother always said, “If you want to be beautiful, you must suffer.” She might have been right, because I understand that a full body wax is like being flailed but not quartered.

In Saul Bellow’s book, Ravelstein, Ravelstein says, “Young women are burdened by glamour maintenance.” A friend of mine in the fashion industry once told me that models that look like twigs are sometimes so hungry that they will eat Kleenex.

I have seen young women, pursuing beauty, with more holes in their heads than they were born with. Nostrils, ears, cheeks, lips and tongues are pierced and studded. The most memorable was a belly button hammered shut with a spike—wide and long enough to hang a slab of beef.

Several years ago, I received a gift of a neck message aboard a cruise liner. Naturally, the masseuse wanted to sell me some of the expensive beauty products aboard ship, so she asked me, “If there is one part of your body you’d like to change, what would that be?” I thought for a few moments and answered, “Honey, I have had these body parts for 60 years. By now, I am pretty used to them. I don’t think I want to change a thing.”  Jean Kerr said it best: “I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want---an adorable pancreas?”

Esther Blumenfeld (a smile is the best face lift)  

GATHER WHAT YE MAY

People collect all kinds of things. Elizabeth Taylor collected diamonds and husbands. One definition of collections is, “The action of collecting someone or something.” She did both.

Another definition is, “An amount of material accumulated in one location.” Graham Barker began his naval fluff collection in 1984. I’m not sure where he mined his collection, but by now he should have enough belly button lint to fill a mattress.

Bill collectors don’t collect people named, “Bill,” nor do they collect bills. They should be called money collectors, but I guess then people would confuse them with the Internal Revenue Service---a profession that sounds as if they only go after people who swallow their money.

Some collections such as stamp, coin, paintings and baseball cards can become quite valuable. Who knew that a first edition, Superman Comic Book, would bring big bucks---certainly not my husband’s mother---who threw it away. And, who would have guessed that Wolfgang Laib’s collection of pollen (from Hazelnut) piled up in the 18 x 21 ft, atrium of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, would be featured as a work of art? The entry fee does not include a dose of
Antihistamine.

Sucrologists collect sugar packets. Inadvertently, they often team up with ant collectors. Some people enjoy collecting seashells. Novices forget that sometimes the shell they have collected is someone’s home. Nothing smells as pungent as the demise of a slimy critter that has crawled out of a conch shell in a collector’s suitcase. However, it’s a good trick to pull on airport security.

Collecting New Year’s resolutions is not a good idea, because there’s no place to keep them. My father collected books. When he was 85-years-old, he and my mother moved into a Senior Residence. I asked him, “Dad, is it difficult for you to move again?” He replied, “No, not as long as I have my books. My books are my portable homeland.” When he died, we donated his collection to various libraries.

However, it was more difficult to dispose of Uncle Bill’s collection of malformed teeth. Uncle Bill was an oral surgeon and was very proud of his tooth collection. Over the years, he had amassed hundreds of extracted teeth, mounted them on black velvet, and displayed them in glass cases in one room of his beautiful home in a suburb of Chicago. When he died, none of his kids wanted to sink their teeth into that collection, so they donated it to the “Collection Terminator.”
Hundreds of years from now, some archeologist, digging around, will ask, “Why did all of those weird toothed people end up at the city dump?”

Esther Blumenfeld (My British friend will “collect” me at noon)

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

“A rose is a rose/is a rose” especially if your name is Rose. That’s not so hard for people to remember. However meeting someone named DaVita might be more difficult. You could always associate it with Evita, but first you have to conjure up Argentina, and then hopefully remember, “It’s dat DaVita.”

I once met a man whose name was Theodore. “Wow!” I thought. “That’s easy. I’ll just recall Teddy Roosevelt.” So, the next time I saw him, I said, “Hi, Frank!” He excused himself after I said, “You’re the wrong President.” I have a visual memory, so when I meet someone, and write the name down, I can usually recall it by visualizing the piece of paper whereupon the name is written. However, when I am introduced to someone in a crowd, that name usually flies into one ear and out the other.

Hiking in Sabino Canyon, I often pass some of the same hikers everyday, and we usually exchange greetings. One nice couple always gives me a cheery hello. After doing this for a few years, I finally introduced myself. It was my lucky day. His name is Jack and her name is Jean. I just have to be careful not to call them Uncle Jack and Aunt Jean since I had one of each of those.

It’s most embarrassing when you see someone you know well and can’t remember her name. Sometimes you can get away with, “I’m having a senior moment” and everyone laughs, but when that person is your sister-in-law, forgetting her name can go over like a lead balloon.

I know a famous Atlanta based author who never remembers anyone’s name. It’s a tip-off when he greets someone with, “Hello, Darlin’!” The only time he lucked out was at a book signing when a woman’s name was Darlene. She was extremely flattered, because she’d never even met him.

The Eskimos have 52 names for snow. At least a person should remember one of them. “Snow” works for me. A good way to ensure that people will remember your name is to make a discovery or have a disease named after you. Who could ever forget that cut up, Joseph-Ignace Guillotin?

Mitch Hedberg said, “I wish my name was Brian because maybe sometimes people would misspell my name and call me Brain. That’s like a free compliment and you don’t even gotta be smart to notice it.”

Remembering someone’s name makes him feel important and special, so don’t say, “I haven’t forgotten your name, I’ve repressed it. That might not go over so well.

Most people are lousy listeners and that is part of the problem with names. I’ve already mentioned mnemonic device as a memory method.  Here are a few others suggested by experts:

When meeting someone, ask him to spell his name. Of course if his name is Joe, he will think you are stupid and it won’t matter if you remember it or not.

Keep repeating the name. “Hi, Jill.” “Nice to meet you Jill.” “So what’s new Jill?”
“Why are you leaving, Jill?”

Visualize her name on her forehead. If you meet someone named Cat, you can always visualize a litter box.

Associate the name with an outstanding facial feature, but be sure to pick a good one, because “Hi, Wart” might not go over so well.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Always end the name of your child with a vowel, so that when you yell---the name will carry.”) Bill Cosby

WHAT A SURPRISE

This morning I was caught in the rain while hiking in the mountains. There wasn’t much I could do other than pretend I was in Seattle and keep right on walking. So I did!  Often, when confronted with the unexpected, a person just has to keep on keeping on.

Julius Caesar said, “No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected.” I guess when Brutus stabbed him it was a bit unexpected. That was probably the only surprise party where the guest of honor was really surprised.
“E tu Brute.”

There are so many curve balls that can change your life. Benjamin Disraeli claimed, “The expected always happens.”  I would add that it’s the unexpected
that gets you. However, sometimes the unforeseen can change your life in a good way.

Before we met, an out-of-towner was visiting his aunt who lived in my community. She urged her nephew to ask me out on a date. Religiously opposed to blind dates, he refused her suggestion. In frustration, she got him in a chokehold and shouted, “All you have to do is ask the girl out. You don’t have to marry her!” He did and he did. I always claimed that my husband married me out of spite.

The unforeseen changed my life, as it has for many others. In medicine a milkmaid’s cowpox led to a smallpox vaccine. A dead dog’s pancreas, urine and some flies that liked sugar led to the discovery of insulin. Mold in a Petri dish brought us penicillin---All unexpected outcomes.

Accidents are always unexpected. That’s why they aren’t called on-purposes. One moment you can be taking your dog for a walk, and the next moment you can trip over his leash and break your arm.

Small children are good at the unanticipated. At the most inopportune time, invariably while you are doing something such as trying to unclog the toilet with a plunger, the wee one will ask, “Where do babies come from?”

What I don’t understand is why people are surprised by change. By the time you acquaint yourself with the latest technology, it is no longer the latest technology. Isaac Asimov noted, “All kinds of computer errors are turning up. You’d be surprised to know the number of doctors who claim they are treating pregnant men.”

A surprise is always unexpected unless it’s not a surprise. You know that the guest of honor wasn’t told about his surprise party when he shows up in his skivvies. Then there’s Lee Trevino who said, “My divorce came to me as a complete surprise. That’s what happens if you haven’t been home in 18 years.”

There are unexpected beginnings and unexpected endings and of course all the surprises in-between. For me, I always thought I’d get old, but I didn’t expect it would come so soon. Surprise!

So, my advice is: Meet serendipity head on when you can, and remember that the best mysteries have unexpected endings.

Esther Blumenfeld (When everything is coming your way, you’re in the wrong lane.”) Steven Wright