URBAN CHICKENS

URBAN CHICKENS

The first experience I had with in-town chickens was when I was a little girl in South Dakota.  Chickens roamed freely in our neighbor’s backyard, and I enjoyed sitting in our tree watching her chase after them.  It was great sport, until the day she caught one of them by the neck, swung it up into the air, and ended up with the chicken’s head in her hand. The cluck less bird dropped to the ground, and kept right on running. That was the last time I played “Chicken Watcher” or read  
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

When my husband was in kindergarten, his neighbors kept chicken coops in their backyard, and he invited his whole class to come to his house for milk, cookies and chicken viewing.  Unfortunately, he had failed to tell his mother or the neighbors that they were coming. That was the last time he threw a surprise party.

In 2015, with a unanimous vote, the Tucson City Council approved an urban agriculture amendment, allowing, backyard, food-producing animals at a residence. This involves using “animal units.” A chicken will count as one unit, and a turkey as four units. No male fowl are allowed, which takes the cock out of 
a-doodle-doo. Backyard coops have to be at least 20 feet from a neighbor’s house. One council member raised concerns about noise level regarding geese.

My brother’s house in Florida is next to a beautiful pond. When he moved in, he thought the wild geese were charming, and he enjoyed feeding them the first day. The next day, he didn’t think they were so cute when he had to shovel his car out from under goose poop.

It used to be that in Arizona people could own all kinds of animals except great apes. However, there were no laws preventing those primates from getting voted into the Arizona Legislature. 

Now, if you own a Desert Tortoise, you can be fined for letting them reproduce in captivity. If you own a male and female, you are required to keep them separated, because when they go at it, there is no stopping them. Remember the story about the Tortoise and the Hare? The Tortoise never gave up and the Hare stopped to rest.  So, who gave bunnies that bad reputation?

If someone in my Senior Residence got some rooster-less chickens, it might not be so bad, because by now I’ve gotten used to having a cluck or two in the neighborhood. 

Esther Blumenfeld (“I did not become a vegetarian for my health, I did it for the health of the chickens.)  Isaac Bashevis Singer

CHEAPEST FACELIFT IS A SMILE

There’s an old cure for rheumatism: Kill a rattlesnake, skin it, dry it, put the remains in a jug of corn whiskey and then drink it! 

People have used home remedies forever. Early American settlers applied urine to outbreaks of acne, and although there is no science to support the pee-on-the-face cure, even Elvis Presley’s mother used urine whenever “The King” had a childhood earache. No wonder he twitched so much.

A doctor once told me to put a drop of vodka in each ear to prevent Swimmer’s Ear.  Now that I am no longer sticking my head under water, I figure a vodka-tonic can do the same thing. No Swimmer’s Ear for me!

I must admit that every time I go to see my excellent doctor, I bring him a new home remedy that I have discovered has worked for me. For instance, for awhile I was getting pain in my legs, and there was seemingly no reason for this phenomenon, until the day I went to buy new hiking shoes and the young salesman said, “Lady, You need a size bigger shoe.” Who knew that old feet keep growing? After I replaced my entire shelf of ill fitting shoes, my wallet shrank and my leg pains disappeared. 

The next time I went to see my patient doctor, I showed him my two rubber duckies that light up and squeak when I squeeze them. Squeezing those little ducks, when I go hiking, strengthens my hands and keeps animals as well as fellow hikers at bay.

 I read that putting uncooked rice into a sock, and then heating it in a microwave oven, makes a good heating pad for a sore elbow or shoulder.  I had no regular rice in my cupboard, so I used Rice-A-Roni instead. My heating pad smells delicious!

One time, my father-in-law, the dentist, told me to stick a wet teabag in my mouth. I’m not sure if it was to stem a bit of bleeding from an extracted tooth, or to shut me up since I was chiding him for voting for Richard Nixon.

My greatest home remedy achievement is my “Aches and Pains” topical cream.
My doctor told me to get this at a Compounding Pharmacy, but when I saw the ingredients in the cream, I figured, “I can do this.”  So, I got out my mortar and pestle, and ground up some very old heavy duty Ibuprofen, that had been taking up room in my medicine chest for years. I added a slug of Arnica Cream, some Menthol Gel and a pinch of cold cream (just for the heck of it.)  It worked just fine, and my doctor said he was going try to whip up a batch for himself.  

My neighborhood pharmacist told me that I could make a fortune from my “Aches and Pains” cream, since he sells a prescription for a similar concoction for a lot more money than my home remedy costs.

Next time I see my doctor, I am going to tell him to suggest that his patients walk with their shoulders thrust back, instead of hunching forward.  It has to be better than compressing the lungs. And I am going to suggest that his hiking patients get walking sticks. A walking stick is lots of fun to twirl, when no one is looking, and very helpful, unless you toss it into the air and it hits you on the head.  

Then I suggest a bag of frozen peas on the noggin.  

Esther Blumenfeld (“The only cure for a real hangover is death”) 
Robert Benchley

BEING ME

Recently, I received a “Who Are You Anyway?” Questionnaire.  It started out just fine:
Name, Address, Phone Number, and Date.  But then the questions started getting nosy:

Birthdate:   In other words, “Will You live long enough to fill out this questionnaire?”

2.   Previous Address and How Long There?  If you answer, “One Week”, does that mean you are a deadbeat who didn’t pay the rent?

3.  “What language do you speak?” I answered, “Depends what country I’m in.”

4.  “Where did you grow up?”  “Missouri, South Dakota, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, California, Georgia and Arizona…since I am still trying to do that!”

5.  “If you have children, where do they reside?”   “In a House.”

6.  “Where did you go to school?” “Kindergarten in Springfield, Missouri.”

7.  “Do you have any pets?” “I have a hummingbird who sits in the fake tree on my patio every afternoon.”

8.  “Are you interested in pet therapy?” “Sure!” “Can I complain about my neighbor’s dog?”

9.  “Do you prefer group or solo activities?” “ Depends on what we are doing.  I like to shower by myself. However, sometimes I prefer a solo activity in a group.”

10. “What brightens your day?”  “Brushing my teeth.”

11.  “What would today’s prayer include?”  “ That I never, ever am asked to fill out a questionnaire letting you get to know me.”

Esther Blumenfeld

A STICK, A STONE, AND SOME WORDS

Taking my hike this morning, I started to think (must have been the blood pumping while going uphill) about how unkind some people have become. Civil discourse is a thing of the past, and conversation has become a garbage dumping ground.  Johnny Depp warns us; “You gotta be careful: don’t say a word to nobody about nothing anytime ever.” 

It seems as if people have forgotten that everything you say and everything you do affects someone else. Words can hurt and damage another person in profound ways. 

Every morning, I first read the sports page and then the funny papers. I want to know what’s going on in sports, so I won’t look like a total fool when my friends wax poetic about football or basketball. And I know that occasionally I can glean some wisdom from the funnies. 

In the balloons above a little cartoon character’s head, I recently read, “Before you say something, ask: Is it true? Is it kind” Is it necessary?” Sage questions indeed. Friendship can end in an instant because of a stupid word. However a sense of humor helps when it’s more of a slip of the tongue than an intentional slur.

Atlanta, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Ralph McGill was often criticized for his forthright columns in the Atlanta Constitution supporting the Civil Rights Movement. He was a Southerner who loved the South, but recognized the destructive effects of bigotry. His response to the poisonous criticism he received from some of his readers was always, “You just may be right,” which left no room for argument, and also intimated, “ And, you just may be wrong.” It was a powerful response given with civility.

Unfortunately, there are intrusive people who don’t know boundaries. Several years ago, I was taking a stroll in my neighborhood, happily talking to myself, when a neighbor, renowned for his boorishness, interrupted my conversation and said; “I just put a new roof on my house. It was very expensive. Do you want to know what I paid for it?”  “ No, I don’t,” I replied. “But, I want to tell you,” he said.
“Sorry,” I replied.  “I still don’t want to know.”  It was a truthful statement.  I don’t think I was unkind, and it was certainly necessary since his roof was of no interest to me.  Now, his house is on the market.  I’m sure that when he sells it, he will send me a bill of sale---including the price of his roof. Some people are just like that.

Esther Blumenfeld  (“Be careful what you say---It has a habit of coming back to boomerang you on the bum.”) anonymous Australian

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)