BE A FRIEND

For many years, I taught Sunday School. One day, I asked my 15-year-old students, “Do you think that “Peace on Earth” can become a reality?” They quickly responded, “NO!” Then I challenged them by saying, “Of course, each one of you can make it happen. It’s up to you. You can start by getting along with your families, then your neighbors, and then they can pass it forward, until our town becomes friendly with the next community etc.” When, I finished, one boy said, “It will never work.” “Why?” I asked, and he gleefully replied, “Because I hate my brother.” Balloon punctured.

Relationships can be hard. It has been suggested that to understand another person, you should “walk in his shoes.” However, realistically those shoes might just not fit and pinch too much to get anywhere. Also, at my age, relationships come and go in one way or another, and more and more they are going—going—gone! Consequently, I can either choose to accept the diminishing without the returns, go it alone or cultivate new friendships. Of course I could adopt a cat or a dog, but, although I enjoy other people’s pets, I am just not a pooper scooper kind of gal.  

I don’t feel the need to be with people all of the time. As a matter of fact, I enjoy my solitude. I laugh at my own jokes and occasionally dance in my kitchen, but occasionally I want to exchange ideas and quips and have fun with other people. Unfortunately, most of the time, because of masking, I am communicating with the top halves of people’s faces, but I can always tell if my friends are smiling because the eyes have it. I happen to like people. That helps.

Over the years, I have learned that it takes more than one person to form a relationship. Also, I figure that if someone doesn’t like me it’s their loss. I have also learned that you cannot change another person. You can only change your reaction to her behavior, and if you don’t expect too much and aren’t judgmental most relationships work out just fine.

Sometimes relationships make no sense except to the people in them. Someone once asked me, “How can you be friends with her? You don’t play golf. You don’t belong to a Country Club. You don’t play Bridge. You aren’t a multi-millionaire, and you can never confide in her because she’s a blabber mouth.” After that appraisal of my qualities, I replied, “She’s a lot of fun!”

Different friends bring something of themselves to a relationship, and if our friendship makes them happy, that’s good enough for me.

Marriage, of course, should be the ultimate friendship.  Here’s what Erma Bombeck advised:

“Marriage has no guarantees. If that’s what you are looking for, go live with a car battery.”

Esther Blumenfeld

CAVEAT EMPTOR

In the aftermath of the Trump Senatorial Trial, I realized that there seems to be a disclaimer to almost everything in life.

For instance; to paraphrase Mitch McConnell he said something like, “Yes, Trump is a scumbag and guilty of everything he is charged with, but I won’t vote to punish him, because I’m sure that down the road someone else will get him.”

And, then there was the somewhere-local legislator who said about one of his State Senators, “We didn’t send him to Washington to do the right thing. We didn’t send him there to vote his conscience.” That proves the disclaimer that, “Any resemblance to actual people living or dead or events past, present or future is purely coincidental.” With some people it is obvious that “Some assembly is required,” and their “batteries are not included.” Of course when it comes to some politicians it is also good to be forewarned, “May contain nuts.”

When I was a teenager, I mouthed off, as teenagers are wont to do, and I can remember my mother chasing me around the dining room table brandishing her bedroom slipper, and shouting, “Act like a lady!” To this day, I believe that sassing one’s parent should be, “Void where prohibited.”

As I grow older, I am often told, “Age is just a number.” What they don’t say is, “Actual mileage may vary” or  “Warranty does not cover an act of God.”

Almost all products touted in television ads have disclaimers, but they are shown  at the bottom of the screen, in a few seconds, in teeny-weeny print so you won’t know, “ This product is not authorized for use by anyone, for anyone. One size does not fit all, and you are using this product at your own risk. So, change the channel before you get a rash.”

Even the sacred wedding vows have a disclaimer. “You have to be good in sickness and in health until one of you departs.”  Of course, in a Jewish ceremony you can always, “Break glass in case of emergency.”  And, on the honeymoon, “Shin pads cannot protect any part of the body they do not cover.”

One of my favorite legal disclaimers supposedly appeared at the end of an episode of THE SIMPSONS. “No dogs were harmed during the production of this episode. A cat threw up and somebody shot a duck, but that’s it.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Please remain seated until the web page has come to a complete stop.”

BITS AND PIECES

While being sequestered in my apartment for almost a year, my entertainment involved an abundance of thinking, as well as remembering the foolish, the fanciful, and, yes, sometimes even the profane.

So, here’s a smorgasbord for you to enjoy:

My husband, Warren was a quick thinker. When we were walking down a street in New York City a rude fellow yelled, from across the street, “Ya got the time?” Warren looked at his wristwatch and said, “Yes,” as we kept  walking.  It must have been a New York thing, because a block later another man yelled (They yell a lot in New York) “Hey, Buddy, where’s the subway?” Warren pointed  down, and we kept right on walking.

My favorite Warren response was when he was about to begin a speech. A large folding screen had been placed behind him. Before he could open his mouth, the screen collapsed with a big bang. The audience gasped, and Warren said, “I think I am having a religious experience.”

There’s a story about a tourist from Arkansas who was visiting Boston. He was lost and stopped to ask a Bostonian for directions. “Sir,” could you please tell me where Washington Street is at?” The Bostonian replied, “In Boston we don’t end a sentence with a preposition.”
“Sorry,” replied the man from Arkansas. “Could you please tell me where Washington Street is at—You Jackass!”

That story reminds me of a time when I was 11 years old, and my parents took me on a trip to Chicago. Walking down the street they ran into some friends and stopped to chat in front of a store that had a “Going Out Of Business” sign in the window. Bored with the conversation, I slipped away and entered the store. I noticed a man looking at a counter display. The salesman  yelled (People tend to yell in big cities) “You want something?”  The man replied, “No, I’m just browsing.” Whereupon the salesman roared, “Then get outta here!” We both ran out.

Sometimes, even a compliment has left me speechless. For several years, I made egg salad sandwiches as a volunteer to feed the hungry. We served as many as 300 people in a seating. One man in line said, “You know what! Your egg salad sandwich is almost as good as the pizza I got out of the dumpster.”

A professor friend of mine, who was also a professional mediator, was invited to mediate a dispute between labor and management at a large company. Not only had the discussion become quite heated, the room was filled with smoke. The mediator suggested, “Let’s take a break, cool down and perhaps cut down on the smoking.”  When he returned, the labor leader smiled at him and said, “While you were out of the room, we came to an agreement.” “Excellent!” said my friend. “What did you agree to?” The man from management said, “We agreed to let you go. Mister, this is a tobacco company.”

When Woodrow Wilson was Governor of New Jersey, he received a phone call informing him that a New Jersey Senator had died. As soon as he hung up the phone, he got a call from an ambitious politician who said, “I’d like to take the Senator’s place.” Whereupon, Wilson replied, “If it’s okay with the undertaker, it’s okay with me.”

One evening having dinner in a Chinese restaurant, I heard a woman say to her husband, “Harold, it’s not the egg roll. It’s our whole life.”

Many times bits and pieces from a long time ago take on a whole new meaning:

Winston Churchill said, “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.”

And sometimes bits and pieces give us hope for the future:

When watching the inauguration of President Biden, my 10-year-old friend, Julia said,
“This is a historical occasion. Can we celebrate with candy?”

Keep celebrating the laughter in life.  It’s good for you.

Esther Blumenfeld

A SHOT IN THE DARK

When I was a teenager waiting for a date meant the prom. Now it’s the coronavirus vaccine.
For the first time in my life, people envy me for being over 75 years old.

CVS Pharmacy was supposed to come to my Senior Residence the first week in January to stick needles into old wrinkly arms, but once the Governor of Arizona was in charge of distribution, he had decided to distribute the responsibility to the county governments. Consequently, I tried to go to the closest hospital’s website to register myself for a shot.

That took several hours because the hospital website had crashed. Finally, when it was supposedly fixed, I called and was told that I was the eighth caller.  I hung up.  Four hours later, I called back and was still the “eighth caller.”

In the meantime, I was able to access the website on my own. It took another hour to register for an appointment. However, everyday and every time was already booked.

To cheer myself up, I went to collect my mail and had lots of fun throwing it all away. Went back on my computer and could not access the hospital website again. Had lunch and then realized that I had missed my fasting blood test for my forthcoming physical exam. Ate dessert and rescheduled.

I learned two things: Scotch is a excellent vaccine for aggravation, and tomorrow is usually another day. Finally, three weeks later I was informed that CVS had received the vaccine and would be at our Senior Residence to inject us all. Hooray!

The CVS shooters came to give me my first shot, but first I had to fill out their paperwork again. For the third time, I informed them that I am still not pregnant.

Done!  Now I am, not so patiently, waiting for the second shot the end of February. Then this masked wonder will go out and help the economy. It’s going to be a grand adventure finding my way around after being sequestered for a year. Parole papers forthcoming.

Esther Blumenfeld

THROW OUT THE TRASH

Finally, I can throw away my old bathing suit. The chlorine in the pool did a number on it last summer, but I have been waiting until January 20, 2021 to get rid of that suit since now I  don’t have to drown myself.

Things  are beginning to look up for everyone except our former President, who leaves office in deep doo doo. Speaking of doo doo, now we taxpayers will save $3000.00 a month on toilet fees for the Secret Service Personnel, who, since September, 1917 were not allowed to urinate in one of the six bathrooms in Ivanka and Jerad’s house. Those good folks were allowed to protect and defend but not to pee, so we the taxpayers paid $100,000.00 for them to use the basement bathroom in a neighbor’s house.

But back to our former President. What is he going to do with all of his free time, since no one seems to want him around? His neighbors at Mar-A-Lago have given him an eviction notice, and the Scots informed him that he isn’t welcome at his golf course in Scotland, because “golf is not an essential activity.”

Granted, some of his disciples have sent him their Social Security Socialism checks that might help pay for his transportation from court room to court room, because his $400-million in loans are due (among some other incidental problems). But, without his tweeting and twiddling what else can he do with his spare time?

Perhaps, now’s the opportunity for him to begin planning for a Trump Presidential Library. He can display two books—-his Upside Down Bible, and “The Art Of The Deal.”  Perhaps, he can find another co-author for a sequel called, “The Art of the Schlemiel.” To decorate the wall, he could hang the fake Time Magazine Cover that kind of featured  him as  “Man of the Year,” something that really never happened.  

Another room could be papered with his tweets and pictures of him shaking hands with his favorite world dictators. And, he could even display the  medical records he dictated to his doctor—“Healthiest Man To Ever Become President.” He could also feature a bottle of gloop that the doctor claimed he drank to grow hair. Of course, the Cognitive Test he “Aced” to prove his mental stamina should be included—“Person, Woman, Man, Camara, TV.”

The Truman Library in Independence, Missouri has papers and photos of the President’s involvement and decision making in the winning of World War II.  Trump’s Library could feature his decision making and photos of some of his followers trying to start the  U.S. Civil War II.

Bess and Harry Truman are buried on the grounds of the Truman Library. Perhaps, Donald can discuss that possibility with Melania.  However,  first, he should see if she is wearing her red $1500.00 shoes with taps on the toes.

Esther Blumenfeld