BLOOD BROTHER

I think I am probably the only person in the world whose shoe has grown a goiter.

The story begins three weeks ago when I had an appointment to meet my new agent at the Allstate Insurance Company Office. I arrived first thing in the morning, opened the heavy metal door (which was on a spring closure), got one foot into the lobby— and the spring sprung. The door hit my other foot and sliced my ankle open.

 I quickly sat on the floor, because my ankle spurted as much blood as a Las Vegas fountain, and I didn’t want to bleed on the office furniture. The young man (my new agent) called out,”I’ll be right there.” Whereupon I shouted, “You’d better come now because I’m bleeding all over your floor.” The ankle has lots of capillaries, so by now the blood was coming out in puddles.  I called out, “Bring some chalk, so we can draw the shape of a body around the blood.”

He rushed out with a mop and bucket. Turns out that he knows a lot about blood because he is a hemophiliac. Before starting to mop, he helped me to stop the bleeding.  The only medical equipment I had in my purse were two band-aids, a panty liner and my mask which served as a tourniquet. Now my friends can call me, “Mrs. MacGyver.”

Since the bleeding stopped, I stayed to fill out the paperwork, but the computer was going through a menopausal change, so I left for home. I  called my doctor’s office and the receptionist said to come right in to see the nurse practitioner named Karma.  I discovered that her parents had been hippies, so I guess that her grandmother must have taught her needlepoint, since she sewed 9 stitches into my ankle. Nils Lofgren is now my new hero.

I left the office with two weeks worth of stitches and medical orders:  “No hiking! “ (hobbling is permitted).” No swimming!” and, “No exercise that involves the feet,!” But I was allowed to wave my arms around.

Now that the stitches are removed, I can only wear sandals. The sick foot calls for a sandal with no heel. Consequently, I have taped the back strap around the bottom of my shoe and placed a big, lumpy white bandage one one side. Now my shoe looks as if it has grown a goiter.

When I returned to the Allstate office to finally fill out my paperwork, my agent quickly opened the outside door for me. Of course he did! After all, how could I expect less from my new blood brother?

Esther Blumenfeld

PHONES AND STRANGERS

A couple of days ago, I received a phone call,  “Hi, Grandma!” I replied, “I am not your Grandma, and I’m not sending you any money” and then I hung up. He didn’t call back.

My friend and neighbor, Pamela is recuperating from an injury, so I bring her mail to her every morning.  Every time I enter her apartment she is either on the phone— or it is ringing. I have decided that either she has lots of friends, or she is “Making Book.” One day I heard her say, “Pickles on five.” Either she meant “aisle 5” in the grocery store, or “the bet on Pickles is 5 to 1.”

Some of my favorite comic phone routines were done by Mike Nichols and Elaine May. To paraphrase one of Elaine May’s conversations:  She frantically calls her Mother because unexpected guests will be arriving for dinner in two hours. She has to find something to throw together for dinner, clean up the bathroom, since there had been a plumbing problem, put the kids to bed and run a vacuum over the rugs. She really needs her Mother to come help her.  Her Mother consoles her, but then says, “What number did you call?” Elaine replies, “301-9789,” and the Mother says, “Sorry, Dear, you have the wrong number. This is 301-9787.”
Whereupon Elaine wails, “Does that mean you’re not coming?”

Here’s an assortment of some of my favorite (true) phone adventures:

When living in Chicago, my in-laws (and all the aunts and uncles on that side of the family) decided it would be fun to have Thanksgiving dinner at our Lilliputian apartment. The kitchen was so small that when I opened the oven door, my back hit the wall, and my kitchen was filled with wall to wall bosoms of “helpful” aunts. After my husband herded them out—the  turkey  landed on the floor. Then, the phone rang, and a deep voice said, “What are you wearing?” I said, “the turkey just fell on the floor, the aunts are trying to break back into the kitchen, and I am not wearing a smile!  Call back later!”

When we lived in San Diego, a woman called and asked for the Urologist, Dr. Blumenfeld. I politely  said, “You have the wrong number.” She said, “No, I don’t!  My doctor gave me this number.  Put Dr. Blumenfeld on!”  I said, “My husband is not home, and he’s not a Urologist.  He is an Industrial Psychologist.” She said, “What’s that?” and I replied, “Lady, you are out of luck. My husband can’t even fix a dripping faucet.” and I hung up.

Then, there was the sweet little Southern lady in Atlanta who wanted to chat. She finally said, “Honey, you are the nicest wrong number I have ever had.”

My two favorite calls in Tucson were at Democratic Headquarters where I volunteered at the front desk for several years. One morning, I answered the phone and a man said, “I have an unusual request.”  I replied, “Well, I’m used to that. How can I help you?” He said, “I’m a Republican and have been looking for their headquarters’ number, but can’t find it. Can you help me?”  I said, “ I think we have it.” I gave him the number and then said, “It’s an old number. If it’s not correct, call back and I will look it up on the computer for you.”  He thanked me and hung up.  Five minutes later he called back.  “They were so rude to me! and you were so nice to me.” “Well, I replied,”Now you know that Democrats are nice people.”

The next day, I received a call from a man who wanted me to check if his absentee ballot had been counted. I looked it up and assured him that all was well. Whereupon he said, “You have such a nice voice. Would you like to go out for a drink?” I said, “No thanks, but I understand that there are lots of nice voices at Republican Headquarters” and gave him the number.

It’s always an adventure picking up the phone—sometimes good, sometimes not so good, but always funny—- when it’s Steven Wright:

“Today I dialed the wrong number—The other person said, “Hello?” and I said, “Hello, could I speak to Joey?” They said, “Uh…I don’t think so…he’s only 2 months old.”  I said, “I’ll wait.”

Esther Blumenfeld (call me sometime)

APOLOGY TO JOYCE KILMER

Elizabeth Bernstein of the Wall Street Journal wrote an article, “The Benefits of a Tree Friend.” You got it—-not a true friend, but a “Tree Friend.”  It began: “I’ve got a new buddy. She’s a Banyan Tree.”

When I was a little girl, I had a tree buddy.  She was my neighbor’s Apple Tree. When the old lady took her annual trip to Europe, I’d climb that tree, sit in the branches, look at the sky and gorge myself with green apples. I’d also knock the dirt off of some carrots I had pulled out of her garden and munch away on them. When my neighbor returned from her trip, she’s always complained about pests in her garden. She was right!

Bernstein wrote, “Trees have a lot to teach us.”  You bet they do! When my brother, David was working in his garden, he was listening to a Stephen King novel on his ear phones. At a very scary moment in the story, a squirrel jumped out of a tree and landed on David’s shoulder. The tree remained calm. Can’t say the same about David.

Bernstein continued: “Trees know a thing or two about surviving harsh years and thriving during good ones.” That’s a favorable review. However, they can also be dangerous. When my son, Josh was in grade school, I chaperoned a field trip to the park. The television meteorologist had predicted rain, but neither rain, nor sleet nor snow would keep this teacher from escaping her classroom. So we herded 20 children onto the school bus, and she instructed them to, “Stay with the group, and if there is a thunderstorm do not run and hide under a tree!” As soon as we got off the bus—BOOM! Sounded like thunder to me, and then a BIG WHITE SLASH in the sky.  At that, all of the kids scattered and headed for the trees.
The teacher shouted to me, “Herd them. We came with 20. We have to return with 20.” I shouted back, “Does it have to be the same 20?”

Adam and Eve befriended a tree. It double crossed them, and they learned a hard lesson. The Tree of Knowledge can bare bitter fruit. As Woody Allen said, “Only God can make a tree—-probably because it’s so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.”

Personally, I would love to once more befriend a tree, but that’s hard to do when living in the Sonoran Desert. For instance, Catclaw Acacias are beautiful multi-trunked trees, but unless you are a Hindu ascetic who enjoys sitting on a bed of nails, you wouldn’t nurture a relationship. Palo Verdes are thornless and have vibrant yellow flowers that promote allergies. To prune The Desert Hackberry you would not only need gloves but would have to wear goggles. The Texas Laurel, with evergreen leaves and purple flowers smells like grape “Kool-Aid,” but attracts big, black carpenter bees. Also, their seeds are poisonous, but they are so hard to chew that they provide little risk—unless you chew them.  I find the Desert Willow especially attractive, but then so do “friendly” snakes, coyotes, bobcats, fox and hawks. There are many more beautiful desert trees, but most of them will stick it to you—one way or another. It’s called survival.

Unfortunately Banyan Trees don’t grow in the desert. With such a tree one could feel close in a spiritual way. However, I can guarantee that if you hug a tree in the desert, you will definitely feel a deep rooted connection.

Esther Blumenfeld

MY DIAGNOSIS

When I first moved into my senior residence I met a woman with a blue face. I had never seen a woman with a blue face, so I asked a friend, “How did she get a blue face?” The friend said, “She tried to climb a light pole.” I said, “She tried to climb a light pole?” “Yes,” my friend replied, “With her car.” As the blue in her face finally faded, I realized that perhaps since I was now living in a senior residence, I might encounter more unfamiliar medical phenomena. However, I vowed never to join a woman’s club that celebrated not having prostatitis.

Of course, living in a senior residence means that there are very few juniors around, and that all of my new friends are remarkable, active old people, who make the most of each day with good humor and gratitude, and every one of them has a story to tell.  However, before I can tap into the child within, I often have to listen to some people’s organ recitals sometimes involving replaced body parts. Some folks are truly bionic creatures rebuilt with lots of metal.

It used to be that when someone told you of his (or her) “Body of Work,” it related to their professional career. Now, I suspect that with some people ailments have become a competitive sport. Hip! Hip! Hooray! takes on a whole new meaning when complaining evolves into bragging.

So far, I have been fortunate to be in relative good health, but there are some mornings when I get out of bed and everything hurts. It’s really not that bad when I rationalize that my body is letting me know that I am still alive.

Since I don’t have a medical degree, and am not familiar with complicated terminology, it has forced me to enroll in the Mr. Google School of Medicine.  I am now majoring in unfamiliar ailments, pharmaceutical ingredients and cures. I think I am a pretty good student. When a 90-year-old woman told me, “I am suffering from cramps,” I tapped into my medical training and said, “You are too old for that!” She huffed, “In my feet! “In my feet!”  The next day a man said to me, “I feel old!” My diagnosis:  “That’s okay.  You are old!”

Don’t get the wrong idea, no matter what life is dishing out, most of my friends are facing each day with optimism. Face it!  Getting old isn’t easy. But then, being young is no picnic either. No one lives a charmed life. If you have one, selective memory helps!

There is no place I would rather be right now than with peers who get it. Everyday is still an adventure, and there is still time and opportunity to make life as rich and rewarding as possible. It’s like George Burns said:

“You know you’re getting old when you stoop to tie your shoelaces and wonder what else you could do while you’re down there.”

Esther Blumenfeld

THE BLOB

Two shots from Gavrilo Princip’s gun in Sarajevo ignited the fires that drew Europe toward World War I.

 Lee Harvey Oswald’s bullet killed John Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States, and perhaps that act served to extend the Viet Nam War.

Senator John McCain’s “NO” vote, to repeal the Affordable Health Care Act, saved health care for millions of people.

Senator Joe Manchin’s “NO” votes will further many attempts to disenfranchise minorities of their voting rights, and serve to block President Biden’s plans to improve the lives of our citizens.

It is hard to understand that the act of one person can change the course of history. That is why it is so appealing to believe in conspiracy theories. It is much easier to believe that it takes more than one person to get us into a mess— or get us out of one.

For many folks, it is also terrifying to believe that we, the people on Planet Earth, are the only viable life in the Universe. Surely, this can’t be as good as it gets!  In 1952, there were reports that “flying saucers” were seen on radar “swarming our Capitol.” In 2021 insurrectionists swarmed the US Capitol. In 1952 TV owners reported their TVs were acting “wacky.”  In 2021 people were acting wacky. In 1952 senior military officials blamed the weather. In 2021 some politicians blamed over enthusiastic tourists. So what should we believe?

I’m not sure if some folks in Mississippi are still making home-brewed rot gut, but should we  really believe the men who claimed they were abducted by aliens? And, they are not talking about undocumented men coming in from Mexico.  It makes no sense.  Why would extraterrestrials pick up some yahoos from Mississippi when they could hit the jackpot in Las Vegas?

So, now, in 2021, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about, Senator Marco Rubio told the reporter on 60 MINUTES, “There’s a stigma on Capitol Hill” (as if we didn’t know) but he was talking about the resurrected subject of UFOs (Unidentified Flying Objects).

It is so much easier to distract people with fuzzy photos of blobs in the sky than recognize the attempts of unethical people who are attempting to upend  our fragile democracy. Consequently, under pressure the US Government is once more taking a hard look at unidentified flying objects, and the forthcoming report will find that they have “found no extraterrestrial link to the sightings reported or captured on video.” However, realistically, they won’t rule out a link to another country causing mischief.  Yes!  It just might be a real problem from our neighbors on Earth.

To paraphrase science historian, Michael Sherman, editor of  SKEPTIC MAGAZINE, “Several billion people worldwide have smartphones that take crisp images, and satellites precisely render detail on the ground. Show me those pictures.”  So far, in most cases, all the mysterious sightings have been disproven under examination.

Also, I remember in years past, an insurance company insured actress Betty Grable’s legs for a $million. I don’t know if any insurance company on Earth will cover an alien abduction—even in Mississippi.

Esther Blumenfeld