Too Much Information

While I was shopping for groceries, a little old lady zoomed around the corner riding her scooter like a bat out of Hell. She gazed up at the shelves filled with boxes of cereal, pointed at me and said, “You’re tall. Will you please get me a box of Fruit Loops from the top shelf?”

I’ve been called all kinds of things, but in my whole life, at 5’2”---I have never been accused of being “tall.” When I handed her a box of cereal, she smiled, thanked me and said, “I’m 93-years-old. At my age a person shrinks, but my nose and ears keep growing.” “Thanks for telling me that.” I replied. “Now I know what I have to look forward to.”  TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

I know it’s the Information Age, but total strangers often share way more details than most people ever want to know. My 90-year-old friend, Jack lives with his dear wife in a senior residence. He enjoys riding the bus around town, because he says, “I can go wherever I want and I meet such interesting people.”

One day a young woman sat next to him, and he noticed a colorful tattoo on her arm. He remarked, “That tattoo is quite a work of art.” She replied, “Oh, if you like this one, you should see the one on my back,” and promptly raised her blouse to show him. Then she told him she was a stripper, and graciously invited him to come sometime to see her performance. He politely declined. TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

Periodically, I go to a swimming pool to do aerobic exercises. While I was splashing and kicking and huffing and puffing a veritable stranger decided to share the personal details of her life with me. It gave me pause. Do I look like a priest in my bathing suit?

Several years ago while on a cruise, the passengers were entertained by true confessions told us by a 25-year-old manicurist who was on her honeymoon. She and her 88-year-old groom had eloped, and were planning to surprise his kids with the news after their honeymoon. She told anyone within earshot that she was very disappointed that he didn’t have as much money as he has told her he had.“I thought only rich people could afford the whole package,” she moaned. I assume she meant fingers and toes. The last time I saw the honeymoon couple aboard ship, she was taking him scuba diving.

Mark Twain said, “The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop.” However that was before facebook and twitter. Now young people tell all they know and then some.

So, I’m going to jump on the bandwagon and tell you more than you want to know about Victoria’s Secret. The lingerie stores are named after the prudish Queen Victoria, who took the throne in 1837 and went into seclusion for 25 years. The secret is that she supposedly liked to wear sexy lingerie. TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Freedom is the right to tell people what they do not want to hear”) George Orwell

The Difference Between Night and Day

I love the morning air, unless I am in rush hour traffic. Morning is my favorite time of day. However, in the summer, I wish it would arrive a few hours later.

Being a morning person is a great advantage when living in the Arizona dry desert climate, because if it’s 75 degrees at 5:00 a.m., it will be 30 degrees hotter at noon. So that’s why I try to beat the sunrise and walk my two miles in the mountains very early. At 6:00 a.m. I know I am awake, because my bed is made and I’m not in it.

Ellen Goodman said, “Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience---unless they are still up.” She must have been a night person. My friend, and former co-author, Lynne is a night person. She does her most creative work long after mid-night. Whenever we would have an early morning business meeting, she would accuse me of being “perky.” She hated perky. What can you expect from a person who keeps the same hours as owls, crickets, frogs and wolves?

The only time I could fake being a night person was when I visited my son in New York City. The three-hour time difference traveling east made me look good. At 2:00 a.m. his friends would say, “It’s amazing that your mom can party so late.” He never told them that it took me a week to recuperate when the hours were reversed after returning home. The only good thing about being a night person is that if you go to bed at 4:00 a.m., you only have to brush your teeth once.

Yes, in the summer I get going extremely early, and by 3:00 p.m. I have already been up for 10 hours. Then it is well–advised to take a nap. Even the hyperactive Martha Stewart catnaps now and then, but she says that she thinks while napping, so not to waste any time. Sometimes when I am baking, I think I also catnap, because I forget there’s a cake in the oven---but then I am no Martha Stewart.

I credit my napping ability to my Kindergarten teacher, because on my report card she wrote, “Esther is a bad rester.” She probably needed a nap. In those days, I didn’t enjoy that activity, so I scooted my nap rug next to my little boyfriend and bothered him. If it’s any consolation, I took her admonition to heart, a couple of years ago. However, I do take credit for encouraging her poetic skills---limited as they were.

So the moral of this tale is that if you are a day person you can take a nap, but if you are a night person, you can’t take a nap because people will think you are going to sleep.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A day without sunshine is like; you know, night.”) Steve Martin

Severe Clear

When I was a teenager, I frustrated my mother. Sometimes, in desperation, she would admonish, “Why can’t you be more like Elaine? She’s nice to her mother.” Elaine was the “perfect daughter.” She was tall and beautiful, gentle as a gazelle, soft spoken and her clothes were never wrinkled. I was short and clean, but thought fashion dictated rolled up blue jeans and a white shirt commandeered from my father’s closet.

I was always nice to my mother, but she was raised in Europe, and tried in vain to impose her sensibilities on an American brat. It didn’t work. I was no gazelle. I remember, as a little girl laughing while my mother chased me around the dining room table, with a slipper in her hand, shouting, “Act like a lady!” Irony was not her strong suit.

No one is perfect, and people who look for perfection will always be disappointed. Even the Liberty Bell has a crack in it. I figure that being imperfect is a great skill to develop, because it makes other people feel so much better about themselves.

Perfectionists are difficult to deal with on the job, because people make mistakes. The adage, “It’s not brain surgery” is a good one, unless, of course, you are a brain surgeon. It’s also good to realize that just because someone is perfectly enthusiastic doesn’t mean he’s perfectly competent, but he’s giving it the old college try (whatever that means). Elbert Hubbard said, “To escape criticism—do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.”

In pilot talk, “Severe Clear” means the way ahead is clear of foul weather, the air is smooth and visibility is unlimited, but life isn’t like that, and perfectionists who can’t adjust find the way ahead much bumpier than the rest of us do.

People are really only perfect after they die, because no one wants to say anything bad about them. Wilt Chamberlain found the whole subject of perfection very confusing. He said, “They say that nobody is perfect. Then they tell you practice makes perfect. I wish they’d make up their minds.”

I admired my friend, Elaine and always wished I could be more like her, but as hard as I tried, I never grew another five inches.

Steven Wright was correct when he said, “If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.”

Esther Blumenfeld (I tortured three piano teachers before they found out it was imperfect me.)

Listen Up

Years ago, when I visited my parents in Florida, they introduced me to a new neighbor. The elderly woman was a cousin of Franz Kafka. Excitedly, I asked her, “What can you tell me about the famous author?” “Well,” she replied, “he was a loner---a somewhat strange fellow. We all called him ‘Crazy Franzi.”’ By her tone, I surmised that he hadn’t been her favorite relative. But, she didn’t say, “He was an annoying little cockroach!”

I’ve always been a good listener. After a bit of practice it’s easy to listen to a person’s words and then figure out what he or she is really saying. It’s like reading between the lines, only you do it with your ears. For instance, most children understand that when mother says, “Maybe,” she really means, “No.”

So, for those of you who need an interpreter, here are some hints about what people say, and then what they might really mean:

“Have a nice day,” probably means, “I don’t care what kind of a day you have. I don’t even know you.” “Let’s have lunch sometime.” If it is said without eye contact, she didn’t add, “when Hell freezes over.”

When a parent says, “Good job!” to a toddler, it always means, “You are brilliant because you found the toilet.” When a host says, “Goodbye,” he is surely saying, “ Are you still here? I thought you left when you said ‘Goodbye’ 20 minutes ago.” “How are you doing?” implies, “Please don’t really tell me.”

It is especially important at the workplace that people listen between the lines. When someone says, “I hear what you are saying,” they really mean, “Stop talking, because I don’t agree with you.” Conversationally, it is the kiss of death when a person says, “Interesting,” because often he means, “Not!” When talking with the boss, and she says, “I’ll bear that in mind,” she means, “What was that all about?”

Two phrases to listen for are: “I only have a few suggestions.” That means, “Do it over.” And, “Do you have any other options?” suggests, “That was a really bad idea.”

“I could care less” is so confusing. I surmise that it means, “I care one bit less than not caring at all,” but I have never understood why someone can’t just say, “I don’t care.” Maybe they think it elevates them from being totally insensitive.

All of us are familiar with, “Your call is very important to us. Someone will be with you shortly.” What they don’t say is, “Someone will pick up the phone in 30 minutes and then hang up on you.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“It tastes like chicken,” means “It’s a dead frog.”)

Surprise

Life is filled with the unexpected. I am pretty adaptable and have learned to switch gears and “go with the flow.”

Once a month, my dear friend, Rabbi Stephanie Aaron conducts Saturday morning Sabbath services at a nearby senior residence. A small, faithful group of elderly regulars attend, and I go to support my friend, as well as her little “congregation.”

Last Saturday, I arrived on time and found Stephanie’s congregants in their usual seats, but was informed that their Rabbi had taken ill and wasn’t coming. Then, I heard a plaintive plea from a really cute 96-year-old man, “Can you lead the service?” I looked around and then realized he was talking to me. “I’ll help you,” he added.

“Sure,” I said. “I can do that,” praying that God wouldn’t get me for misrepresenting my abilities to some of the matriarchs and patriarchs of the Jewish faith. So, we passed out the prayer books and began our service. I quickly discovered the joys of responsive reading and reading in unison, but when it came to Hebrew prayers, I was on my own.

Over the years, I have memorized several Hebrew prayers, but a Hebrew scholar—I am NOT! Luckily, the book had transliteration (Heb-English) so I could fake my way through. I read those prayers in a very soft voice; hoping that most of the elderly congregants wouldn’t be able to hear every word, and praying that lightening wouldn’t strike me for that trick play.

Some of the Hebrew prayers are supposed to be repeated, but I figured getting through them once was a blessing and how many blessings could I expect in 40 minutes?

My sermon was short and sweet. I told them that I enjoy attending their service once a month because Stephanie is my friend, and I love the sense of community that they create by getting together to worship and that I value them. I looked around at the beautiful senior residence and told them that I couldn’t afford the building fund.

We blessed the wine and bread and the service was over. I felt a bit self-satisfied, until a little lady tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I have one question. Who are you anyway?”  Guess, I won’t take this show on the road.

Esther Blumenfeld (“He that sits in Heaven laughs.”) The Book of Psalms