IT'S A PUZZLEMENT

“Sometimes I’m confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn’t obvious.” (Michael Stipe, lead singer R.E.M.)

My problem is that I think a lot.  If I’d stop doing that, I’d probably not be so confused about what is happening around me. For instance, I find it confusing that gun owners don’t need a license to own a gun, because people are required to get a license to catch a fish. Trying to find an answer I re-read the Second Amendment of the Constitution, and now I get it! We have a well-trained Army, Navy, Marine Corp and Air Force, so we don’t have to worry about an uprising of fish.

On a simpler level of confusion—Question: In a cookbook, what’s the difference between, “Serves Four,” or “Four Servings?” Answer: (that I came up with) inviting four football players to dinner.

Here is probably the worst question someone can ask you— “So tell me, what do you think?” I have discovered that the least confusing way to handle that question is to not give an answer, but just smile. They will assume that you are a deep thinker. That is always better than saying, “The answer is crystal clear,” because Pawan Mishra suggests, “Isn’t life a collection of weird quizzes with no answers to half the questions?”  If a leader in finance and technology can say that, I don’t have to be so perplexed when my checkbook doesn’t balance.

Also, voting is now high on the bafflement meter.  It seems as if the mantra of many politicians these days is: “If you can’t convince the public—confuse them!” Then voting becomes so complicated that there are no longer any game rules in elections. Consequently, the fact that every citizen should be allowed the right to vote is often tossed to the winds of mistrust. Some people don’t want voting machines while others want to reject the U.S. mail-in votes, and others want to remove polling places. It is so confusing. Is there an answer?

Perhaps we should return to a vote by hand, but since the majority of people in the U.S. are right handed the lefties would have a justified case for the Supreme Court. I am guessing that the Supremes— in a vote of 6 to 3— would approve of the sticking out of tongues, one tongue for “Yes” and the forked tongue for “No.” Consequently, with the exception of the tongueless,  the “Ahhh’s” would win lickity spit.

Finally, to quote the paragon of virtue, Johnny Depp, “I try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face.”  I don’t know much about Johnny Depp’s face, but I do know that confusion can also be a good thing when it leads to a clearer mind and to the truth— as long as we don’t confuse what we wish for— for what  really is.

Esther Blumenfeld

DIMINISHING RETURNS

This morning as I carried my bags of groceries into my apartment, I noticed that the bags seemed much lighter than usual. The boxes, cans and paper goods that I unpacked looked the same, but something had radically changed. Yikes! I had been attacked by Shrinkflation. I don’t know the name of the economist who came up with that term, but it’s now in the vernacular.

Shrinkflation is a sneaky way of hiding the cost of everyday food, drink and paper products without actually raising the price. Consequently, hundreds of items have shrunk. So what you now purchase might meet the needs of a Lilliputian. A case in point: Charmin Toilet Paper isn’t as charming as it used to be, because the original 650 sheets per roll now only contain about half of that amount. Even the Mega Rolls don’t have as many sheets as they used to and the sheets have gotten smaller. So, if you are, “Two Sheets to the Wind,” you are probably actually only “One Sheet to the Wind,” but that’s okay because your bottle of Vodka has probably also shrunk.

Even good old General Mills has shrunk its Family Sized Boxes of cereal by almost 10%.
Consumer advocate, Edgar Dworsky told the Washington Post, “Do we raise the price knowing the consumer will grumble, or do we give them a little bit less and accomplish the same thing? It’s easier to do the latter.”

Also, the folks who shop at Walmart hoping for better deals are also getting the shaft. Walmart Great Value Paper Towels dropped from 168 sheets per roll to 120, but the price stayed the same. And, if you want to get kissed by Hersheys Dark Chocolate Kisses, you’ll get 20 ounces less of romance for the same price.

Here’s my question: If you are paying the same for less doesn’t that mean that you are really paying more? Join me on a romp down The Yellow Brick Road. There’s got to be a Wizard down there somewhere.  

OKAY! There are less Wheat Thins in the same size “Reduced Fat” box. If I dunk some into a “Reduced Fat” smaller jar of Skippy Peanut Butter,” and the price of the food that I bought stays the same, but the size of the goods in the box gets smaller, Why haven’t I lost weight?

It’s a puzzlement.

Esther Blumenfeld

GETTING RENEWED

I rarely promise anything. However, I can promise that you will never hear someone say, “Oh, I just love to go to the DMV” (Department of Motor Vehicles.) Unfortunately, two years had passed since I last renewed my Vehicle Registration, and my little old Saturn needed an equipment inspection and emissions test before I could get my paperwork. Consequently, I unearthed and charged up my old GPS system to direct me to the facility. I know how to get there, but during the Pandemic, I had paid someone to run the gauntlet for me, and in two years some road topography had changed. Maybe not so much the roads, but many familiar landmarks were gone.

The facility opened at 8 a.m, so I left my apartment at 7:30 a.m. Reaching a big intersection,  I quickly realized that I was not in one of the three left-turn lanes, so I drove straight ahead and made a U-turn. Suddenly, two police cars—sirens blaring— roared up behind me. “Oh, My God!” had I made an illegal u-turn? I had visions of landing in jail instead of the DMV. The police raced past me, and I made my right turn. Now I was in the correct lane to make another right . A cultured voice from my ancient GPS said, “In a quarter mile, make a right turn at Pantano, the street I needed. However, the street split—one side going up a bridge over the street, and the other side making a right turn on Pantano.

I turned right at the stoplight. It wasn’t Pantano. Sooo—I made another U-turn.  This time it was illegal, but by now jail didn’t look so bad after all. Finally, I made the correct turn and drove several miles  until the cultured lady told me to turn right at the DMV sign. No problem! I had arrived and, miracle of miracles, I was ten minutes early. I pulled to the front of the entrance of the inspection gates. I was first in line! The gates were still blocked by a heavy metal chain, but it wasn’t time to open yet. I began to read my newspaper when I heard a tapping on the car window. I rolled it down, and a man said, “We aren’t lining up at the front of the building anymore. You have to line up at the back to get to the front. I drove around the building and saw a line of at least 25 cars ahead of me. They were lined up all the way into a busy street where once more I had to make a U-turn in order to get into line.

By now the outside temperature had turned to an uncomfortable 85 degrees. The line moved slowly and when I pulled close enough to see the entrance, I noticed that there were four examining stations, but only two of them were open. By now there were at least 20 cars lined up behind me. At that, I suddenly realized that the DMV would suck at least an hour out of my life! Two lines were formed, and I decided not to pull up behind the house trailer. Observing other drivers sitting in line was as much fun as attending a funeral. Then I saw a flashing sign offering a $1000.00 bonus for anyone signing up at the DMV. It didn’t say you had to work there. I was tempted,  but two other inspectors had arrived and the other two lanes opened up. I only waited twenty-five minutes more and arrived first in line.

The young inspector told me to get out of my car and stand in the shade. He didn’t have to ask me twice. I leapt out of the car clutching my $12.25 fee. I was so eager to pull out the money that I ripped the $10 bill in half. Pathetically,  I handed him two singles, a quarter and two halves of a $10.00 bill. A new experience for him. My little, old Saturn passed the test easily, and then I drove to another building to apply for my vehicle registration. I only stood in line for 10 minutes and all went well. The drive home was uneventful without even one U-turn.

Now I am waiting for someone to say,  “See you soon. I’m making a quick trip to the DMV.”


Esther Blumenfeld

TRIBUTE TO RADAR

When my son, Josh adopted his cat, Radar was already three years old, and  had arrived at the Animal Care Facility with his own bed—obviously, a well cared for pet who needed a home.

The first time I met Radar was when I visited my son, the television Meteorologist. Josh had to leave for the studio, and I—a person who had never developed a relationship with a cat—was left alone looking at this fifteen-pound-Norwegian-Forest-Feline, who had made a a bed out of my black trench coat.

I said, “Well, it’s just you and me Kid,” and all he did was stare at me.  I have since learned from the comic, Paula Poundstone that, “Cats get the same exact look whether they see a moth or an axe-murderer.” Getting no response, I decided to leave Radar alone and give him time to warm up to me, so I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. I sat at the table and opened the newspaper. However, I suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that someone was watching me, but nobody was there, until I looked up, and saw Radar, who was peering down at me from the top of the kitchen cupboards.

Then I panicked, “What if he falls and hurts himself?” Josh will never forgive me.” I yelled, “Get down you cat. You’re not supposed to be up there.” Of course, he was probably thinking, “This is my house. YOU go away!” I slapped my hand against the newspaper and shouted,”Get down!” At that, he jumped from the cupboard to the counter and onto the floor. Then he ran to the dining room, leapt onto that table and slid off entangled in the tablecloth. He popped his head out and gave me the, “I’m the Boss around here” look. At that, I capitulated. Then he disappeared. Later, I turned on the TV to watch Josh do his weather stuff, and heard a loud multisyllabic yowl. Unfortunately, Radar had fallen asleep behind the TV set , and the sudden noise had made him levitate. Turning off the TV, I looked at him and said, “Kitty, it’s time for milk and cookies.” He got the milk.

Over the years, Radar and I became kind-of friends. I liked him. He tolerated me, but he loved my son and later my daughter-in-law, Barbara. He enjoyed sniffing her hair. I learned a lot from Radar— “When you are hungry eat! When you are tired find a sunbeam and take a nap! And, when there’s a thunderstorm, hide under the bed!” I suspect that Radar was probably part pooch, because around the same time every evening, he’d run to the window and look for my son to come home from work. When Josh arrived, Radar would follow him up the stairs and roll over for a tummy pet.

Radar was also a spoiled brat, because just like a little kid, when my son was on the phone talking to me, Radar would jump into his lap and mew, “Pay attention to me!” At that, Josh would say, “Mom, would you like to talk to Radar?” And, I would always say, “No!” Because if Radar could talk, I know he’d just refuse to do so.

As the years passed,  Radar did seem to remember me when I visited, and he became more friendly. I’m not sure if it was me he liked or the toys filled with catnip that I would bring him. On occasion he’d sidle up to me and sit near me, and let me pet him, and this wild and domestic beautiful creature eventually won my heart, as I accepted him on his own terms.

Having reached 18 years, Radar had led a contented life. He had been cared for and loved. He had been fed and played with and left to his own devices. He had a loving family. He also left this earth on his own terms. One day, he ate a little, he played a little, and then he lay down and died. Just as he had lived, he seemed to have done it his own way.

“When the cat you love becomes a memory, the memory becomes a treasure.”

Esther Blumenfeld

OFF THE RAILS

“Can’t recall the name of your third grade teacher? Don’t worry—it’s just your brain clearing the debris.” (Corrine Purtill, “Forgetting,” TIME MAGAZINE, May 9, 2022).

Neuroscientists who study the biology of forgetting have determined that forgetting is not just a failure of memory, but that the brain has its own molecular tools working to clear what is no longer relevant. It makes sense that since we absorb, “hundreds of thousands bits of information in the course of a single day,” that the brain disposes of some of the useless stuff.
However, this memory loss is not connected to Alzheimer’s Disease which goes way beyond routine forgetting.

Consequently, it’s obviously not serious when you have forgotten the name of the doctor who removed your tonsils when you were six years old, but maybe your first kiss left an indelible impression—or maybe not!

Some people blame their age on forgetting a name or where they misplaced the house keys. However, I have observed that some of the most forgetful among us are teenagers who forget their homework, lunch or where they dropped their stinky gym clothes. Forgetting the time they were supposed to come home is a cop out! That’s a senior moment for seniors in high school.

I am told that Hacienda at the Canyon, where I live, now has 244 residents (capacity 300). That’s a lot of names to remember! So far, there are seven Nancy’s living here. Consequently, it is safe to call everyone, “Nancy.” Eventually, you’ll get it right.

Forgetting is frustrating. There are all kinds of tricks recommended such as, “Go through the alphabet.” If that doesn’t work, do it again, but this time try the English alphabet. Association is also a good trick, but if someone’s name is “Minnie” don’t call her “Mouse.” The brain is like a computer that stores information, and I guess at some point, unless a memory is revisited, it will slowly delete what is less necessary to focus on what is being delivered.

Often, when I forget a name or search for a word, it will come to me later. Eureka! it’s been there all the time, but it isn’t immediately there..there. However, I have found that once it has been recollected, it is easier to remember the next time if I write the word (or name) on a piece of paper and make a concerted effort to remember it.

Someone once asked me, “What’s the secret of a happy marriage?” I said, “Selective hearing and selective memory” Of course, you really don’t know how good your memory is until you try to forget something.

Along with other scientists, Oliver Hardt, a professor at McGill University suspects that, “The culling of nonessential memory is one of the key purposes of sleep.”  In other words, a good night’s sleep produces a clearer mind.

Sometimes it’s weird which old memories I can recall. For instance, many years ago, when browsing in a bookstore, I noticed two young women enter the front door. They were covered from the head down with  a myriad of colorful tattoos. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t a patch of clear skin left. They seemed a bit confused as they looked around, so I said, “In case you are looking for books on tattoos, I think they are on aisle 3.” As I left, I heard one girl say, “Do you think she’s psychic?” Perhaps, that memory should have gone into my brain trash can, but it was just to colorful to forget.

Forgetting and remembering are two sides of the same coin. Steven Wright said it best,
“Right now I’m having amnesia and deja Vu at the same time. I think I’ve forgotten this before.”

Esther Blumenfeld