How Big Was That Fish Anyway?

I’ve been a trusting person my whole life. Anyway, I usually start out that way. But, if someone lies to me, I tend to remember it.

When I was a little girl, my best friend, Leigh Ann bit me. (When I grew up I chose less violent friends.) I ran into the house crying and told my Uncle Harry what had happened. He said, “I’m going to kill her!” That was quite comforting, until I realized that Leigh Ann would live on to bite her way through life, and that Uncle Harry had lied to me.

Lies have a life of their own, and now with modern technology, lies can spread faster than diaper rash on a baby’s bottom. When telling the truth, you don’t even have to remember what you said, but if you tell a lie, you’d better get it straight if you intend to repeat it.

One day, as I was loading groceries into the trunk of my car, a well-dressed man, carrying a gas can, approached me. He told me that he had just arrived from Philadelphia. He was on his way for a job interview, but had run out of gas. He had left his wallet with his wife, who was waiting in the car with their two children. All he needed was money, so he could get some gas. I was dubious, but gave him some money for the good story.

Two weeks later, he approached me again with the same sob story---except this time he was from Detroit. I said, “Two weeks ago you told me you were from Philadelphia.” “Well,” he said, “I guess that two weeks ago I was from Philadelphia.”

When telling a half-truth, a person should be sure to remember which half to tell. Lies make suckers out of us all. Napoleon Bonaparte said, “History is a set of lies agreed upon.” Several juicy lies have entertained us for generations.

The story goes that the Greeks presented the Trojans with a peace offering in the shape of a wooden horse. When the Trojans pulled the gift into their fortified city, they discovered it was filled with vengeful Greeks. True or not, it’s a good story and perhaps an elaborate lie.

Anna Anderson claimed to be the missing Anastasia of the royal Romanov family, until DNA ruined that hoax. And who, in the 1950’s, wasn’t enthralled with the discovery of the skull of the Piltdown man---the supposed link in evolution---until it was proven that the skull was only 600 years old, and that the attached jawbone came from an orangutan.

Sometimes it takes a long time, but the truth usually prevails. Those who are habitual liars don’t go unpunished. George Bernard Shaw explained the fate of liars very well. He said, “The liars punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“The income tax has made liars out of more people than golf”) Will Rogers

Sally Forth

Daredevils are people who are bold and reckless, such as; Evel Kenievel, with his ramp to ramp motorcycle jumps; or, Felix Baumgartner, the record holder of the highest skydives and fastest free falls; or, Alain Robert, the “French Spiderman,” famous for climbing sky scrapers.

Most of us don’t consider ourselves daredevils, but along the way, we have had a few adventures. Without adventure, something in us goes dormant.

One of my favorite adventurers is my 90-year-old friend, Jack. He lives in a senior residence with his dear wife, Irene. She won’t tell people how old she is, but obviously she likes older men. Jack enjoys riding the city buses, and everyday he has a new experience and, “meets the most interesting people.”

Last week, Jack met a young woman, on the bus, who told him, “This is the best day of my life!” “What makes it so good?” asked Jack. She said, “I just got out of prison.” “What were you in for?” asked Jack. “Armed robbery,” she replied. Not missing a beat, Jack asked, “What made you do that?” She shook her head and replied, “That bum of a husband. He made me do it!”

Just goes to show that on a trip, it doesn’t matter how far you go to have an adventure along the way. Tom Cahill said, “A journey is measured in friends rather than miles.” And, Irene said, “I don’t care how many new friends he makes, as long as he doesn’t bring them home!”

I’ve had a lot of adventures in my life, some of them better than others. I swam with the dolphins in Roatan, Honduras. That is not so unusual. However, I got involved with a mama dolphin and her calf, and was warned to avoid Mama’s tail. Remembering that dolphins are among the cutest animals that could still destroy me, I looked into her gaping mouth, gave her a quick pat and swam away.

In Tahiti, I tried snorkeling off the back platform of a small ship. The snorkeling worked out better than hoisting myself back onto the platform, since the waves had swelled and the platform was now several feet higher, and moving from side to side. After a few feeble attempts, and several mouthfuls of water, two burly sailors hoisted me up and tossed me onto the deck like a flipping mackerel.

My most dangerous adventure involved playing pedestrian dodge ball while crossing a busy street in Saigon. Motorcycles sped around me going in all directions, except up my legs, and one of the drivers yelled in English, “Walk slowly! Don’t stop, or you may die!” It wasn’t raining, but I raised my umbrella in self defense.

Albert Einstein said, “The one who follows the crowd will usually get no further than the crowd. The one who walks alone, is likely to find himself in places no one has ever been.” You betcha’, Al.”

Robert Trussell, of the Kansas City Star, interviewed me when my play, Under Midwestern Stars appeared at the Kansas City Repertory Theatre in 2007. At the end of the interview, he asked me, “How can someone your age write a play?” I thought of saying, “You would never ask a man that question,” but instead I said, “I’m not too old to dream. I think it’s a mistake to think that only young people can do things and have adventures.”

 Life is an adventure, not an obstacle---just ask Jack!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Life is a blank canvas, and you need to throw all the paint on it you can.”) Danny Kaye 

Twinkies Are Not A Vegetable

I don’t remember how we got on the subject of vegetables, but the other day my friend, Barbara said, “I like all vegetables except rutabaga.” “Is rutabaga a vegetable?” I asked. “Not in my house, it isn’t.” she replied. Of course, Barbara is from Wisconsin, and everyone knows that the favorite vegetable in Wisconsin is cheese.

Recently, scientists at Cornell and Brigham Young universities have discovered that school children will eat their school lunch veggies if you pay them to do so. They found that providing a reward increases vegetable eating by 80%. For a long time “incentives” have been used with children to improve reading habits or manage behavior, but is it really okay to bribe a kid to munch on a carrot?  What ever happened to, “It’s in front of you. Eat it!”

Sometimes the definition of “vegetable” is confusing. For instance, a tomato is a fruit that is called, “vegetable.” In the mid-1980s, after Congress cut one-billion-dollars from the Child Nutrition Program, the USDA came up with the brilliant idea of labeling Ketchup as a vegetable. Of course, they thought no one would remember that tomatoes are a fruit. Only a kid who puts green beans up his nose to entertain his friends would want tomato concentrate on his Fruit Loops.

Onions make me cry. I have never cried peeling an apple---unless I cut myself---then I cry. My father-in-law told my mother-in-law (who was a gourmet cook) that he didn’t want her to cook any dish that required onions. I asked her, “How can you make all those delicious dinners without using onions?” “Easy!” she replied. “I tell him that it’s celery.”

The only vegetable my mother liked was iceberg lettuce. She would take a cleaver, whack the head into 4 wedges, and smother the chunks with Thousand Island dressing. Then she would command, “Eat!” That cleaver was my “incentive.”

President George H.W. Bush raised a ruckus with farmers and the produce industry when he said, “I do not like broccoli, and I haven’t liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And, now that I’m President of the United States, I’m not going to eat any more broccoli!”

Often people will not like vegetables because of how they are prepared. On the East Coast, people enjoy their veggies blanched (barely cooked). They call them, “Tender-crisp.” Southerners will bare a shotgun, send those vegetables right back to the kitchen, and yell, “ Cook my greens until I can suck ‘em through my teeth!”

I have several friends who are vegetarians. They have taught me that lamb chops are not vegetables. Since I like these people, I try to accommodate their dietary preferences and have prepared many vegetarian dishes. While looking for vegetarian recipes, I came across a good suggestion by Jim Davis who recommended that, “Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread and pumpkin pie.”

Also, since herbs in the strictest sense are vegetables (plant kingdom), I have discovered that chamomile tea (a plant of the daisy family) tastes, “Oh, so good” when prepared with a dollop of honey and a shot of whiskey (a vegetable made out of grain).  Works for me!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?”) Anonymous

Spotting A Doppelgager

Yogi Berra said, “You can observe a lot by just watching.” I guess that’s how a fake Santa Claus recently got caught groping one of his elves. Someone was watching.

As a passionate spectator, I enjoy people watching. It isn’t really voyeurism, because for writers and actors it’s in the realm of mining for creative material.

New York City is my favorite city for people watching. As a visitor, I am never in much of a hurry, and enjoy sitting outside, at a small café table, with a cup of tea, watching and wondering about all those people rushing by---and rush they do---all day and all night. Life in New York is hectic. I noticed that even the children are in a hurry. New York is known as; “The city that never sleeps.” My son, Josh said, “That’s why everyone here is so cranky.”

Contemplation has always been a part of my life, but watching the hurrying crowds makes me wonder if anyone ever stops to pay attention. Gerard Way said, “Someday your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it’s worth watching.”

Nowadays, because of cell phones, observing people inevitably leads to unintended eavesdropping. Most of the time, through no fault of my own, I catch a snatch of conversation coming my way. It’s hard not to pay attention, when, sitting in a restroom stall, a woman in the stall next to me, shouts on her cell phone, “What do you mean your brother is moving in with us?” She took the news sitting down. I got out of there before hearing the rest of the story.

Airports are ripe for people watching. Imagining can be fun. “Is he a bagman for the mob, or is that a salami sandwich in his briefcase?” “Is she crying because watching her friend leave is so hard, or is she crying because she had to drive him to the airport at 3 a.m.” Or, “Is that a nail piercing his earlobe or an antenna?”

When my father was at the airport, he saw someone who looked very familiar. Was it someone he should know or a doppelganger? (A double of someone he knew.) My father made eye contact with the man, and not wanting to be rude, approached him and said, “Excuse me, but I do know you from somewhere, and I just wanted to say, ‘Hello.”’ People watching did pay off. He had seen the man before, but they had never met. Walter Cronkite didn’t know my father, but graciously acknowledged the greeting.

One thing to remember about people watching is to be alert, because they are probably watching you too. When I was at a museum in Washington, DC, a man approached me and said, “Excuse me, but my wife and I were arguing about what you are. I say you are French and my wife thinks you are Spanish?” I looked at him and said, “Sir, I am an Epicurean.” Let them go watch someone else.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Here’s looking at you, kid”) Humphrey Bogart

The Foofnagle Newsletter

After reading in great detail about too many things, we decided that the trend in holiday newsletters has gone too far. This year, therefore, we are sending our own version of the mimeographed message to all our “friends.” If you too are fed up with hearing more than you ever wanted to know about your friends and relatives, please feel free to use this one. We guarantee it will remove your name from their mailing list next year.

DEAR-----,Happy holidays to all our friends! Time once more for the Foofnagle Newsletter. And a busy year it’s been, yes indeed! Much to our surprise, Fermin was offered a promotion, and is now the Second Associate Agricultural Coordinator for Fastfood Worm Farms, Inc. He has more responsibilities and just loves everything about the new job. His boss says he is progressing so rapidly we may soon be able to move from our ultra-contemporary, split-level home in suburbia to the inner city, where we can joyfully and enthusiastically renovate an old, dilapidated house into a showplace in just six short years. In his spare time, Fermin has taken up karate, off-loom weaving and songwriting. The music industry here is booming, and we just know Tanya Tucker is going to buy Fermins fantastic country western rock song called, You Don’t Need No Ears to Hear My Beat. Keep your ears to the charts! All the Foofnagle relatives love it. In fact, Cousin Lulu is getting married again for the third time and wants it played when she walks down the aisle.

Our lovely daughter, Flossie is really growing up. This year she’s been on the Honor Roll twice and won first prize in the school Talent Show for playing Jingle Bells on her nose. This resulted in her election as vice-president of the Future Organists of America. Isn’t she wonderful? As for daughter Bootsie, she’s sprung up four inches this year, is out of her training bra, and has six new rubber bands on her braces. She, too, just loves school and twangs a mean harmonica in the high school marching band and yet still finds time for her volunteer work at the Ruby Keeler School for the Unbalanced.

And wait until you hear about little Fermin Junior. He took his first steps on Sept. 14 right after lunch. Yes, and he was only 11 months old. Such a precocious child. Pretty soon he’ll be playing soccer just like his father used to…anyone can see he has the arches of a pro. He really keeps me running, and hates to nap, the cute little tyke. It’s a joy to share their news with you, our dear, dear friends.

We did take one teeny little vacation without them this summer, driving cross-country in our camper Zelda on a lecture tour promoting my new sensitivity training program called PIT-PAT: Pull In Touch, Push Aside Tension. I am so encouraged by the response it drew and I soon hope to be accredited by the National Psychological Facsimile Association. The two-month trip through our vast country was breathtaking. Such vistas! Isn’t America darling?  It was very exhausting, but since we wound up in Toocomecarry, Maine, we spent a glorious week there at the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Sex Clinic. What an uplifting experience!

Well, there’s much more, but my homemade bread is rising (made from wheat grown in our very own naturally fertilized window box), and I’ll have to say, goodbye until next year. May your news be as thrilling as ours.

Hugs and Kisses, Fanny, Fermin, and the three precious Foofnagles.

P.S. By the way, my PIT-PAT seminar is available by correspondence in a 10-part series. Simply mail $79.95 along with a self-addressed envelope to: Fanny Foofnagle, PIT-PAT, at my address. Financing Available. Happy Holidays and a resolute New Year to all!

(Reprinted from Atlanta Magazine and the St. Petersburg Times. By Lynne Alpern and Esther Blumenfeld c 1981 Alpern and Blumenfeld.)