MOO MOO POO

My dear mother-in-law used to say, “Live long enough and you will see everything.”
As wise as she was, I’m sure that even she could not have fathomed the potty training of cows.

I have a little 2-year-old friend named Paisley whose Mom tried to toilet train her. Mom showed Paisley the potty and explained the procedure. Paisley listened carefully, ran around the room and peed into her toy chest.

Believe it or not, researchers have now discovered that it may be easier to train a calf to urinate in a special pen than to train a toddler. At a lab in Dummerstorf, Germany animal behavioral scientists mimicked the toilet training of toddlers putting cows in a special pen, waiting until they urinated and then giving them a sweetened drink as a reward. If the cows urinated outside the pen, they got a spritz of cold water. I don’t think Paisley’s Mom squirted her.

It just so happens that cows urinate a lot (“8 gallons a day from one cow”) and according to the EPA this is a serious environmental problem causing 7% of U.S. greenhouse gases. Combined with cow bowel moo-ments that’s not a good thing! Consequently, toilet training animals could make it easier to manage waste products. Who would have thought that the earth might be saved by windmills, solar panels and cow potty pens.

Pigeons used to be trained to carry secret messages behind enemy lines. Surely, a wise pigeon scientist could find a way to train them to poop on the enemy rather than on ledges in New York City.

On the other hand, looking at the sky and seeing the graceful flight of birds does not make most of us think of their bodily functions. I remember drifting in a small boat on a tranquil sea. My husband had chosen not to sit on the open deck but rather under the shady cover. As the first mate threw bread crumbs to the sea gulls, I marveled as they dove down and then up and down again. I remember that one man sitting on the open deck had begun our cruise with black hair. He looked like a very old, white haired man when we docked. Couldn’t all of those plastic bottles in the ocean been put to better use?

I am flushed thinking about the potty training of animals. How hard could it be? After all, think of all of those sheep that play“Follow the Leader.” Cats already have litter boxes. Can’t blame a cat for tainting the water. With dogs you can always scrape off the soles of your shoes. Obviously, there are bottom-less possibilities of containing waste to help save our planet.

But, then there’s the horse. I’ve seen diapers on horses in parades.  I guess you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him poop like a cow. However, isn’t it udder nonsense to think that cows are smarter than people—Or is it?

Esther Blumenfeld

BEING A BETTER PERSON

The Jewish New Year 5782 has arrived. I said to my son; “Josh, we are a very old people.” He replied, “Not all of us, Mom!”

Celebrating the arrival of a New Year is easy considering everything we went through during the last one such as; pandemic, fires, floods and kids running around the house, while parents, handcuffed to computers, were working at home. On the bright side, a New Year can be filled with hope for better days to come.

BUT! a week later, Yom Kippur arrives. It is the day of atonement, when a person is required to take responsibility for his or her actions, and think about all of the crappy things he or she might have done (or said) and ask for forgiveness for being a jerk. That’s not an easy task, especially when you are a perfect person. It is always so much easier to blame other people.

Fasting (no drinking or eating) is also suggested while trying to become a better person. There are exceptions— if you are pregnant or taking medications— or if going without food makes you extremely cranky. I think I made that last one up.

So, here are some of the things one might not only have to think hard about, but also ask for forgiveness:

Have I ever sinned by thinking, saying or doing something bad? Well, that certainly doesn’t leave much wiggle room!

I must admit that recently I have had rather evil thoughts about some politicians, but if I would ask for their forgiveness, they would surely put a price on my apology and ask for a donation.

Among many traits that I abhor is being a liar, and I try to be as truthful as possible. Sometimes that is very difficult, because it calls for a choice that could hurt another person. Consequently, I must confess that sometimes I’ve made the choice to play with the truth. For instance, one afternoon, I attended an extremely painful violin recital of a dear friend’s
10-year-old son. The sounds coming out of that violin would have knocked the angels right off of Jacob’s ladder. I was amazed that the strings withstood the torture.

After the ringing in my ears cleared up, my friend, who had a big smile on her face, said,”So what do you think?” I looked at her, paused and sincerely replied, “You must be very proud of him.”

On another tack, I don’t think I’ve ever abused my power, because I really don’t have any, but I must repent because I did  profane in a colorful manner when I stubbed my toe.

All of my life, I never did disrespect my parents. Can’t say the same about teachers. However, I can rationalize it because my award-winning-professor-husband always said, “ There is no such thing as a bad teacher.  If he is bad, he’s not a teacher!”

 I also don’t think I have dealt treacherously with my neighbor, unless under-baked banana bread counts. Sometimes I am confused. When does information become gossip? I guess repeating something good about someone never hurts.

I do try to forgive people if they hurt me, because looking at the source, I know that usually it’s not intentional, and it’s not worth losing a friendship over carelessness. In other cases I can simply dismiss it as plain stupidity. However, when I was a little girl, I came into the house crying because my friend Leigh Ann had bitten my arm. My Uncle Harry roared, “I’m going to kill her!” He never did, and I never forgave him—but not so much with Leigh Ann.

It is definitely a good thing, at least once a year, to consider becoming a better person. However, since none of us are perfect, invariably we will make mistakes. Consequently, it is equally important in life to forgive ourselves.

Esther Blumenfeld

A JOB IS A JOB

As a child, I don’t think I ever received an allowance unless you count the five cents I got from  my Father, the tooth fairy. Being a 5-year-old entrepreneur, I recognized an opportunity since I had several  loose teeth. My business partner, Teddy who was 8-years-old, offered to pull my remaining loose teeth, so we’d have enough money for ice cream. When I presented my second tooth to my Father, he gave us 10-cents if we promised to end our business venture.

As time went on, any money I received I’d have to earn. When I was 10-years-old, I was hired by my parents for my first baby-sitting job. I’d watch my one-year-old brother who was asleep in his crib, while they went next door to visit our neighbors. Unfortunately, the sleeping baby woke up crying as soon as they left. I figured that he’d stop crying if I picked him up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t reach him since I was short. The side of his crib gate was up, and I didn’t know how to lower it. So, I climbed up and stood on the lower rung of the crib gate, and leaned over to pick him up. Whoops! my knee got stuck in-between the slats. I couldn’t step up or back down. Now, both of us were crying! Finally, I un-wedged my knee, stepped down and called my folks. That was the most painful 10-cents I ever earned.

Other than baby sitting gigs for 15-year-old kids jobs were hard to find, but I finally found work in a store that sold baby clothes. My job was to stock shelves and fold clothes, but never to wait on anyone unless the other clerk was busy. However, I was forbidden to ring up a sale.That was left to the owner of the store. She had a suck-on-a-lemon face with a disposition to match. I earned 75-cents an hour—better than the 35-cents an hour I could earn baby sitting, and surely better than pulling out my teeth. I put up with a lot from the sour owner of the store, but when she handed me a toilet plunger and told me to take care of the over-flowing toilet, I said, “No, Thank You!” and left.

Life got serious when I had to find a good part-time job to help pay for my college tuition—not an easy task living in a small town. However, I was able to line up a 4-year summer stint in men’s pants. Hang On! It wasn’t that exciting. I got an office job at a men’s trouser factory, and earned $3.00 an hour. After the 3rd year, my salary was raised to $3.50. My job was to take the place of office workers when they went on vacation. I discovered that typing on a manual typewriter for 8 hours a day was cruel but not unusual punishment. Every morning I punched in on a clock and my favorite part of the day was punching out.

When the order person went on vacation, I was assigned to stand (not sit) for 8 hours in the cavernous, spooky warehouse and put orders in the right slots—IN or OUT.  The orders  would  then magically be shot up somewhere into outer space. I only worked that job for one day, because somehow some of the IN were shot into OUT.  It was dark in that warehouse.

One day, I arrived at work and there was a big picket line in front of the factory. The angry workers were shouting and waving what looked like scissors and stuff. I was afraid to walk through the picket line, but my tuition was due and I needed that paycheck. Meekly, I asked one of the workers, “Is it okay if I go into the office?” She looked at me and said, “Go ahead, Honey!  No one wants your job!“  Hell!  I didn’t want my job.

In today’s newspaper “Part Time Jobs for College Students” was listed. Here is my take on them.  TUTOR: “Help students improve their understanding of class material”— (and if they just don’t get it, do their homework for them  if you want your)—” $14 to $21 per hour.”

NANNY: “Assist parents with day to day raising of their children,”—-( and don’t get your knee stuck in a crib slat.)— “$11 to $17 per hour.”

DRIVER: “Responsible for getting people (or stuff) from one place to another.”—-(without getting lost)—“$9 to $15 per hour.”

FOOD SERVER: “Work in eateries. Part of the income is based on tips.”—-(So, pretend to be a nice person.)—-“$9 to $13 per hour.”

No matter what job you have—NO JOB IS PERFECT!  But, I can promise you, that if you have never experienced the bumpy road to success you have either inherited the business, or you never sold your teeth.

Esther Blumenfeld

SALESMEN AND SUCKERS

In 1893, at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Clark Stanley, the self-appointed “Rattlesnake King” slit open a rattlesnake, threw it into a vat of boiling water, and after the snake fat rose to the top, he scooped it out and put it into some liniment jars along with some herbs. He sold the product to the crowd as “Snake Oil Treatment,” and became the “Snake Oil Salesman.” In 1917 Federal Investigators discovered that the snake part of Stanley’s “cure all” was left out although it was advertised. However, he sold the stuff for another 24 years.

Now, in 2021 the “snake oil” salesmen use my computer to peddle their fraudulent and weird wares that invariably land in my junk mail. Of course, I never open their messages, but here’s a sample that’s available for gullible folks.

My husband, who died in 1998, was offered a credit card from Master Card (unless he needs to
rebuild his credit). After deleting my husband’s junk mail, I attended to mine.  One message merely said, “Thank You.”  If I had answered that one, I could have typed, “You are welcome. Now take back your worm.”

I’m not sure if another pitch wanted me to shine my teeth or shine my liver, but I am certain that I’d never want a Hearing Aid that would “break the sound barrier.” It would probably blow my head off of my shoulders which would make it impossible to shine my liver. Also, I don’t think that I will ever need to take “Granite Testosterone” even for “Nerve Control.” And, is a “Fungus
Destroyer” considered a “Senior Perk?” And, what in the world are “Funeral Potatoes”? But then, I’ve never heard of Funeral Potato chips either.

Considering snacks, I could have ordered “Brain Candy” from one quack, but then maybe the “Knee Candy” might be a treat for the cartilage in my knees. Also, I do not understand the purpose of a “Flip Fork.” Maybe it is used to “Empty Your Bladder.”  YIKES!

However, after deleting my junk mail, I also have discovered that there are things for sale on the internet that might appeal to the sucker of the moment such as the “Zombie Attack Survival Kit.” Assuming that you have ordered the kit and survived the attack, you could always order a “ghost in a jar.” I guess you’d have to be specific about which ghost you’d like to keep in a jar, and then I wonder where do you keep that jar? It could be very disconcerting to have it in your bedroom.  Maybe the kitchen where you keep your “Wolverine Meat Shredder Claws” would be a good place—just in case the ghost gets out.

The most inventive sales pitch I found was a “Soul For Sale.” The price was not listed. I’m sure the amount is negotiable…It always has been.

Esther Blumenfeld

EXISTENTIAL THOUGHTS

Being able to concentrate on the task at hand is a great gift. I remember as a little girl climbing into my Father’s lap and resting there while he was typing a  philosophical paper. Lost in thought, I’m not sure he knew I was there, but it was very peaceful.

When I began my writing career, I too developed the ability to concentrate and was able to work anywhere. Since my co-author and I lived far apart and had no office, we met at a local McDonalds every morning after dropping our kids at nursery school. We knew we had it made when the hamburger-flipping manager took a phone message for us. When McDonalds changed their taste in music, we dressed up and moved to a remote corner in the lobby of an elegant hotel where no one bothered us.

As I have grown older, I have discovered that concentration and multi-tasking are really not that compatible-- ever since I tried to stir the soup while answering the phone with my TV remote. I am very conscientious about remembering the names of all of my new new neighbors. Sometimes, I have to concentrate on the the whole alphabet to find the trigger for a name. The other day, I found myself staring into my  kitchen cupboard thinking, “Why am I here?” That is not an existential question such as, “Am I really here?” because I knew I was really there, but did not remember exactly “Why?” However, as I began to leave the kitchen it came to me.  I had just finished reading about the Governor of Arizona—-Governor Doug Ducey. How did that name relate to what I was looking for? Then it came to me in an “Ah, Ha” moment. NUTS! I was looking for nuts.

Often it’s difficult to concentrate while watching the evening news on television. There’s just so much bad stuff  repeated over and over.  It can lead to thoughts such as, “What the Hell is going on in this unfathomable universe?” However, before accepting “existential angst” it may be helpful to remember the story about the little boy who was digging a hole, with his  little shovel, in a pile of dung. When asked, “Little Boy, why are you digging that hole in the dung?” The little boy replied, “There’s got to be a pony in there  somewhere!”

As I think about it (which is also a form of concentrating) I think it makes sense to keep digging, so we can make our lives as purposeful and meaningful as possible.  Also, if I think about it long enough perhaps I’ll figure out how my water bottle ended up in my hiking boot. After all, I never lose things, I only misplace them.

Esther Blumenfeld