HEAR THIS

There was a time I would never have thought that vinyl records would make a come-back. There was also a time that I never thought that, after twenty-five years, my dear Dr. Wool would make a house call, but it happened!  No, he didn’t walk into the front door, instead he popped up on my computer screen. I think it was Dr. Wool. He looked like Dr. Wool, but then I have never see him on my desk before. It was what is called, “a follow-up exam.” That one does not involve blood work or pee in a bottle, but it’s a, “How are You?” kind of an exercise.

First of all, these questions were asked:  “How are you feeling?” “Are you eating?” “ Are you getting enough rest?” After he answered those questions, we got down to the nitty and gritty of my exam.

Fortunately, I had no real complaints, but I did have a list of medical appointments, that, because of COVID-19, I had already delayed, and I wanted him to suggest which ones I should keep and which ones, I could further put off. That was a great help, since I can now venture out conscience free. I trust my doctor implicitly.

 My ophthalmologist  once asked me, “If Dr. Wool told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” And, I replied, “Absolutely!” Now, most of my medical appointments have been re-scheduled into October and November, but the appointment in August, with my audiologist is still on the books. No problem!

Here’s the drill: I will drive to the parking lot, get out of the car and ring the bell.  The audiologist will open the door, and I will turn the hearing aids over. I will then sit in the car for 10 or 15 minutes, while my hearing aids get their 6-month check-up, and then she will come to the car.  I will have to remember to roll down the window, and this masked person (whom I assume will be the audiologist and not the janitor) will hand my hearing aids back to me. Then, I will wipe them off with disinfectant and pop them into my ears, and hopefully hear some good news on my car radio.

That will be my first outing since March 15, and I am really looking forward to it. I have already picked out the outfit to wear, and plan to take some snacks and a cold drink. These days we need to improvise, because there’s nothing like a good party—even in the audiologist’s parking lot.

Esther Blumenfeld

SNARK DOESN'T CUT IT

In order to insult me, I must first value your opinion.

There are two ways to insult people: One is sarcasm—- a reaction to an irritant—but is funny. And, then there is snark, which is snide, but not funny. Oscar Wilde said, “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but the highest form of intelligence.” If that is true, then obviously the snarky person is just an annoying jackass.

For example: A young woman buys a dress that she loves, and models it for her friend, who says, “You’re not going to wear that to the party are you?” That is classic snark. Or, “You look good for your age.”  That is a backhanded compliment covered in snark. However, sarcasm is the ability to tell someone to go to hell, in such a funny way, that he will look forward to the journey.

Winston Churchill was a master of sarcasm. When Nancy Astor said to Winston Churchill, “If I were your wife, I’d poison your coffee” (snark). Churchill replied, “If I were your husband, I’d drink it” (sarcasm). I find snarky behavior sneaky. It is passive/aggressive and reeks of hostility.  Of course, sarcasm can also be delivered by an angry person, but it’s never sullen, because sullen isn’t funny.

One of my all-time favorite books is, THE ALGONQUIN WITS, edited by Robert E. Drennan ,(Citadel Press, 1985. It is a collection (albeit dated) of bon mots and wisecracks by members of the legendary, “Vicious Circle, that gathered at lunch around a table at the Algonquin Hotel in New York City in the 1920’s, way before my time, but much of the sardonic humor of those writers, critics, actors and wits lives on. If you are not familiar with those people, I recommend you ask Mr. Google. He is most accommodating.

In the book, Robert Benchley discusses a Broadway show: “It was one of those plays in which all the actors unfortunately enunciated very clearly.”  George S. Kaufman, after the flop of his first play, SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE, remarked “There wasn’t.” He also once suggested his own epitaph, “Over my dead body!”

One evening at the Friars Club a fellow member asked Ring Lardner to read aloud a poem written by a member’s brother, twenty years deceased. After he finished, Ring asked,, “Did he write it before or after he died?” Dorothy Parker, a regular member of the Algonquin Wits, was told that Clare  Booth Luce was, “invariably  kind to her inferiors.” At that Dorothy Parker asked, “And where does she find them?” According to Mrs. Parker, “Wit has truth in it. Wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words.”

On the occasion of George and Beatrice Kaufman’s 5th anniversary, Alexander Woollcott wrote to them, “I have been looking around for an appropriate wooden gift, and am pleased hereby to present you with Elsie Ferguson’s performance in her new play.”

And, with that, I will leave all the unimaginative snarks far behind with this quote from comedian, Emo Phillips, who said, “Never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. That way, when you do judge him, you’re a mile away and in his shoes.”

Esther Blumenfeld

OFF COURSE

A few summers ago, while hiking in the mountains, I saw a very large sea bird zooming over my head. Today, I read in the Arizona Daily Star, “Brown Pelican blown off course finding itself landlocked in Tucson.” Seabirds are not a common sight in the Arizona desert, but due to monsoon storms, and increased wind speeds, they sometimes get off course.  This lucky pelican will be taken to San Diego for a little vacation, and then go free to soar again in more familiar territory.

Sometimes, lately, like the pelican, I feel, “off course.” For instance this morning, on the way to the bathroom to clean the sink, I moseyed into the bedroom and made the bed instead, and then I returned to the kitchen with the bathroom cleaning rag still over my shoulder—not having cleaned the bathroom sink at all.  

Clearly, I had been blown off course—distracted. Maybe it was because I had switched on the TV  in the bedroom. It is understandable, that, when bombarded with bad news about COVID-19, a 100,000 acre forest fire in my mountains, and social unrest no wonder it is difficult to stay focused. And the weatherman is no help at all with a prediction of  a 115 degree heat wave around the bend.

Attention comes at a cost, and I have found that thinking is the ultimate distraction, so I walk about thinking a lot these days, but I am not the only distracted person in my neighborhood. I often encounter people who are also in La La Land. So, just for fun, although I try to communicate, I can sense that they are mentally somewhere else. For instance, I go swimming (one person at a time) everyday in the indoor pool, just around the corner from my apartment . On the way home, I invariably run into a neighbor who will ask, “How was the water?” And, I answer, “Wet! Incredibly wet!” If he asks me the same question the next day, I will say, “It seems to be getting wetter.” As I said, “Attention comes at a cost.”

The internet is a great distraction. Playing with a machine is so much more fun than doing the laundry. Maybe staying focused is only as important as the goal. That’s why I ruminated over  a
question asked by Marty Rubin, “Is daydreaming a distraction from work, or is work a distraction from daydreaming?”

Some distractions seem to shorten my days, especially the creative ones such as painting images on rocks, and reading a good book (if you can find one) also helps.  Of course some people take distractions to the extreme, and are so easily distracted that these scatterbrains can’t ever focus on the task at hand.

I have discovered that often distraction is just where I want to go, because as Rousseau reminds me, “The world of reality has it’s limits. The world of imagination is boundless.”

Esther Blumenfeld (Glad my teakettle has a whistle)

A GOOD DAY

Last night I dreamed that I was packing a suitcase in order to move back into my house.

WHAT A NIGHTMARE!

I am sure that I would hate to move in with that young couple who bought my house, and share a bathroom with their two rambunctious sons. I’d especially find it daunting to deal with their two dogs.  I understand that one of them is a biter. Don’t know if it’s one of the dogs or one of the kids. Not having either the responsibility, nor the unexpected expenses, of a house is a
relief—especially in these COVID-19 days.

I am happily ensconced in my new senior residence, and like everyone who lives and works here. Maybe being six feet apart from people is what gives me that warm and fuzzy feeling, although, by now,  I am able to recognize the top-half of almost everyone’s face. Other than taking my car out for a spin once a week, walking two miles on the paths around the buildings daily, and doing aerobic exercises in the pool (one person at a time in the pool) I have not left the premises since March 15.

Right now, my major concern is that all of the elevators have a 4000 lb. limit. I have to stop eating so much! The menu is varied, and, although the five restaurants are closed, most of the time, the dinners delivered to my apartment are delicious except for an occasional surprise that doesn’t resemble its description. Not being a finicky eater, I eat it anyway. This brings back a nostalgic memory of my college years at the University of Michigan, when, one evening, all the students in the dining room marched out in protest of the “mystery meat,” that, even coagulated white sauce, could not disguise. It looked more like a chemistry experiment than a dinner. I ate it anyway, and never did grow fangs or hair on my knuckles. But, I always did blame that meal on my poor grade in Geology.

After sixty years of cooking, I take great pleasure in having my dinners prepared for me. I could also order breakfast and lunch, but if I did that, I’d end up looking like a bowling ball, and they’d have to roll me out of my apartment when this epidemic is finally held at bay.

In the meantime, it is predicted that as many as 80% of all restaurants in the country will go out of business. It is hard to chew while wearing a mask. However, I am optimistic that eventually new establishments will rise out of the rubble and prosper—just like they did after the great flood in New Orleans.

Americans are a resilient, creative bunch of people, and although it took two years after the pandemic of 1918, the country did bounce back, and until recently, no one even talked about that terrible epidemic.

So, here’s some good advice from my friend Fay who always says,; “Attitude is everything!” Right now, wearing masks in public seems like a rather primitive way to protect ourselves, and others, from a killer disease, but it does seem to work. So, if you follow that rule, and distance from people, and you are a healthy person today—it’s a good thing!

A good day, in a bad year, is always a very, very good day!

Esther Blumenfeld

TELL A TALE

Has anyone ever said to you, “Tell the story about—“and then she gives away the punchline?
Of course, the logical answer to her request is, “You just did!   Story telling is a creative art form, just like a classic piece of literature, art or music. It is important that a  humorous story be told well, and classic funny stories can be told over and over again, because they pass the test of time.

Good story tellers know how to manipulate a conversation toward a place where the story seems to be logical.  The worst way to tell a story is to announce it, because you are challenging people to laugh. The best way is to slide it in for a humorous home run. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s worth the risk. Also, the best stories usually have an element of truth.

My Father was a gifted story teller. He and Mom retired to Florida and lived near the ocean. One of their neighbors was a doting grandmother who enjoyed taking her little grandson to the beach everyday, and my parents took much pleasure watching the child from their balcony as he played in the sand.  He always looked so cute dressed in a sunsuit, and wearing his little hat, while carrying his little pail and shovel.

One day a storm suddenly blew in. The child was playing too close to the water, and a big wave washed him out to sea.  The Grandmother fell to her knees and implored God, “Please bring  my grandson back to me.  He is such a good child, such a sweet child, such a blessing!” And, like a miracle a wave came up, and deposited the child back on shore wearing his little sunsuit, and clutching his little pail and little shovel.  At that, the Grandmother fell to her knees, threw out her arms, looked to the Heavens and cried out, “He had a hat!”

First time I heard this story it was told by Zero Mostel on a TV talk show.  Lucky for me,  no one can take a copyright on a joke. The comedian, Milton Berle was famous for his files of “stolen” jokes. However, if someone steals a complete comedy routine, he could be facing a lawsuit.

I must admit that sometimes I get some of my best material just eavesdropping on other peoples’ conversations.  I figure if people are talking loud enough for me to hear them—Go for it!  And, if they are talking softly, I can always turn up my hearing aid. There seems to be good material all around me.

Four men, who live in my senior community, enjoy eating dinner together. One evening I overheard them having a one-ups-man-ship argument about which one of them had the, historically speaking, oldest profession. They are all retired—an agronomist, a doctor, an engineer and a local politician.

The agronomist said, “My work is the oldest. When God drove Adam and Eve out of Eden, he told Adam to til the soil so he may eat bread by the sweat of his brow. So, farming is the oldest profession.” The Doctor said, “Well, if you are going to go back that far, you are still wrong. In the Garden of Eden, God anesthetized Adam, and when he was asleep, took a rib from his side to make Eve. This is the oldest record of a surgical procedure.” The engineer then said, “Well, even before that, the Bible says that God separated the sky from the earth, and the sea from the land—both first rate engineering jobs.” The politician, quiet so far, finally spoke up. “Gentlemen, you are all wrong. Very early in the Bible we read,’In the beginning there was Chaos.’ Who do you think was responsible for all that Chaos?”

There you have it! Some old stories do pass the test of time.

Esther Blumenfeld