LISTEN UP

Nowadays, there are two ways to get someone to listen when you talk:
Talk to yourself—or—Get a dog.

There is a difference between hearing and listening, and often people only hear what they want to hear. Also, you should realize that a polite way of saying, “Shut up!” is, “I hear you.” I have learned that the old saying, “Give and you shall receive” can be hazardous— if it’s my opinion. However, sometimes self-control is impossible in the climate of this polarized society. I know that some things are better left unsaid, but sometimes I don’t remember that until I’ve said it. So there you go! Of course, sometimes people excuse me because I’m an old lady, and I know how to play that card very well.

Frank Zappa once said, “A mind is like a parachute. It doesn’t work if it’s not open.” Listening—truly listening—is really hard, because you have to put yourself out there, and sometimes you have to be willing to hear what you don’t want to hear. If you listen and reflect on what you have learned, you are not just hearing verbal noise.

I have learned that with some people, if you aren’t talking about them, they stop listening. There’s the old story about the author who said, “Enough about me. What did you think about my book?” However, I have learned that it is important to listen when people talk about themselves, and that you should remember what they say. File away that information! And I’m not even in the FBI.

For instance, I recently met a young woman, I had never met before. She told me that she was Catholic, and that her husband was Jewish. She goes to church every Sunday, and she said that he never goes to synagogue, and she is worried about his soul. A few months later, I saw her again, and she said, “I’ll bet you don’t remember me,” and I said, “Oh, Yes, I do.You are Catholic. Your husband is Jewish. You go to church on Sunday and he doesn’t go to synagogue. And, you are worried about his soul.” She was speechless. It was worth it!

I must admit that sometimes when a conversation is really boring my mind will wander, and sometimes it just seems to run away. At that time, smiling a lot and nodding sympathetically  seems to work. Excusing oneself and hiding in the closet may be strange, but you can always say that you thought it was the bathroom.

It’s true that most people would rather talk than listen, except for the strong silent type.  He might just pass for a good listener, or, he might just be plain stupid. Unfortunately, too many people hear what they want to hear. If you are listening to someone talk, it’s always a good idea to question the source of the information. Otherwise, you may just be hearing babble or listening to downright lies.  

It is a given that when you hear birds singing in the trees, you don’t have to verify that they are birds. On the other hand,  ringing in your ears is a common ailment when politicians are speaking. Listening to music is an activity that can help all of us escape constant verbiage. However, it is also a selective hearing activity. As Woody Allen so aptly said, “I can’t listen to that much Wagner. I start getting the urge to conquer Poland.”

Esther Blumenfeld

SEEING IS NOT ALWAYS BELIEVING

This morning, I had breakfast with my friend, Sandra who is a master. No, she does not run a tugboat or own a plantation. Sandra is a member of the Canadian judiciary. I asked her, “Is it ever difficult to render a decision?” She replied, “Sometimes, even when confronted with evidence, one has to be careful to arrive at the correct conclusion.”

I asked her to give me an example. “That’s easy,” she replied. “I have a friend who is expecting a baby. She also has a three-year-old daughter. While trying to explain her pregnancy, she showed the child an ultrasound of the baby. ‘I want to call Grandma’ was the excited response. So they did. The little girl grabbed the phone and yelled, ‘Grandma, Grandma, we’re going to have a frog.”’

Christopher Columbus was looking for a direct sea route to China and the Indies. He proved that the world is not flat, but instead of discovering the Indies and Chinese take-out, he unearthed the joys of the tobacco plant. After a good smoke, he still insisted that he had discovered the Indies and shouted, “Isabella, Isabella, these folks are Indians.”

As far as the earth goes, most people grudgingly admit it isn’t flat anymore, but even if they see a polar bear in a bikini sipping pina coladas on an ice flow, these people will not recognize global warming. They will shout, “Al, Al, the ice cubes in my scotch and soda didn’t melt any faster than they used to.”

When I was in Alaska, I spotted a big black bear ambling very close to the van in which I was sitting. The driver stopped, so we could enjoy the bear and her cub. We also spotted a woman with a camera getting out of her car. My driver lowered the window and shouted, “Get back into your car.” “Why?” said the woman. “Bear,” said the driver. “So?” said the woman. I yelled, “Lady, Lady, it’s a bear—not a frog!”

Some people just don’t get what is directly in front of them. There are still some numbskulls that don’t believe that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. “They didn’t fool me. That was a fake moon landing filmed in a Hollywood studio. Besides, the moon is made of cheese and cows jump over it.”

“People are entitled to their own opinions, but not their own facts.”

The paranoid among us still don’t believe that the former President of the United States was born here. Even his birth certificate won’t convince them. If one of these characters was privy to President Obama’s ultrasound, he would convince himself that he is right, and then he would shout, “Grandma, Grandma, our President is a frog, Hawaii is a foreign country, and I am as smart as a three year old.”

The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior.  Oh, by the way, Don’t forget to vote!


Esther Blumenfeld (The sun just sank into the sea)

GATHER WHAT YE MAY

People collect all kinds of things. Elizabeth Taylor collected diamonds and husbands. One definition of collections is, “The action of collecting someone or something.” She did both.

Another definition is, “An amount of material accumulated in one location.” Graham Barker began his naval fluff collection in 1984. I’m not sure where he mined his collection, but by now he should have enough belly button lint to fill a mattress.

Bill collectors don’t collect people named, “Bill,” nor do they collect bills. They should be called money collectors, but I guess then people would confuse them with the Internal Revenue Service---a profession that sounds as if they only go after people who swallow their money.

Some collections such as stamp, coin, paintings and baseball cards can become quite valuable. Who knew that a first edition, Superman Comic Book, would bring big bucks---certainly not my husband’s mother---who threw it away. And, who would have guessed that Wolfgang Laib’s collection of pollen (from Hazelnut) piled up in the 18 x 21 ft, atrium of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, would be featured as a work of art? The entry fee does not include a dose of
Antihistamine.

Sucrologists collect sugar packets. Inadvertently, they often team up with ant collectors. Some people enjoy collecting seashells. Novices forget that sometimes the shell they have collected is someone’s home. Nothing smells as pungent as the demise of a slimy critter that has crawled out of a conch shell in a collector’s suitcase. However, it’s a good trick to pull on airport security.

Collecting New Year’s resolutions is not a good idea, because there’s no place to keep them. My father collected books. When he was 85-years-old, he and my mother moved into a Senior Residence. I asked him, “Dad, is it difficult for you to move again?” He replied, “No, not as long as I have my books. My books are my portable homeland.” When he died, we donated his collection to various libraries.

However, it was more difficult to dispose of Uncle Bill’s collection of malformed teeth. Uncle Bill was an oral surgeon and was very proud of his tooth collection. Over the years, he had amassed hundreds of extracted teeth, mounted them on black velvet, and displayed them in glass cases in one room of his beautiful home in a suburb of Chicago. When he died, none of his kids wanted to sink their teeth into that collection, so they donated it to the “Collection Terminator.”
Hundreds of years from now, some archeologist, digging around, will ask, “Why did all of those weird toothed people end up at the city dump?”

Esther Blumenfeld (My British friend will “collect” me at noon)

OPEN UP

I have trouble opening things. I’m sure it is genetic. My father had butter fingers, and whenever he tried to unscrew, untie, or unwrap anything he’d eventually resort to some creative under-the-breath muttering.

Recently, I hosted a party and tried to uncork a bottle of champagne. Finally, I turned the task over to a strong man, who immediately popped that cork. A cautionary note: Do not loosen a cork for anyone else.  It makes you look really stupid.

Manufacturers have developed all kinds of creative ways to challenge whomever is dumb enough to buy their products. “Push down and twist clockwise” is almost as much fun as, “Squeeze hard and twist counter-clockwise.”  I usually push down when I’m supposed to squeeze hard before pulling the hammer out of my tool chest.

There are several creative ways to open a jar:

A blunt edged knife should release air from under the lid. Accompanied by a box of Band-Aids, this can work.

Hot water run over the lid might do the trick---with a little Unguentine on the side.

Banging the lid of a jar of kosher pickles on the garage floor might work, but be sure to have a broom, a pail of water and a mop nearby.

You can try putting on rubber gloves when wrestling with a stubborn jar top. It will give new meaning to “twist and shout!”

Then there are the plastic packages that contain, batteries, dental floss, toothbrushes, razors and all kinds of products that you need, but can’t get to by simply opening the package. When a scissor fails me I sometimes resort to a razor bladed knife and a box of already opened Band-aids.

Receiving a package in the mail can be a delightful surprise until you try to open it. Usually I have been struggling for ten minutes before I see the instructions, “Open other side.” Then there are the cardboard boxes that contain foodstuffs. They instruct to “Pull up the sides and tear here.” When my eyes fill with water, I understand the “tearing” part.

Plastic screw caps on soft drink bottles cause much consternation. If you can’t get the cap to move, you might not want to ask a stranger to open your bottle, because who knows what he’s been doing with those hands.

So here are my final thoughts on the subject:

If you are stranded on a desert island, do not send a note in a bottle out to sea, because whoever finds it, won’t be able to remove the cork.

If you visit a scientist, and on his desk there’s a brain preserved in a jar---leave the jar closed.

If you have a hankering for hard liquor, take a drive to the Smoky Tennessee Mountains, because a jar of Moonshine opens itself.

Alice in Wonderland found an already opened bottle with a sign that read, “Drink Me.” It was not marked “Poison” so she drank the ingredients. Unfortunately, it made her really short. So, beware of already opened bottles. Eat cake. It will make you taller.

Esther Blumenfeld (I’ve never met a man who can’t open a beer bottle.)

HIDE THE SWORD WHEN YOU SAY, SUMIMASEN

A friend called and told me, “I feel guilty.” “What do you feel guilty about?” I asked. “I feel guilty, because when I receive all of those stickers from charities, I keep them and don’t send donations.”  

“First of all,” I replied, “you don’t have to pay for something you didn’t order.” But, if you really feel guilty, just put the stickers into the enclosed envelopes and send them back to where they came from.” “I don’t feel that guilty!” she said.

A sheet of stickers sent by a charity costs nine-cents, but research has shown that by sending these “gifts,” donations go way up.

The Japanese word for “Thank you” is “Sumimasen” which means, “This will not end.” When I open my mailbox, I know they are right. It’s all about reciprocity. In its purest sense, reciprocity means, “rewarding a kind action,” but since many people interpret it as an obligation to return a favor, others have found ways to take advantage of the guilt.

A social scientist sent out 600 Holiday Greeting cards to a randomly selected group of strangers. He received 200 responses. Some of the cards even included those printed Holiday letters telling him all about families he had never met. I guess these folks figured, “What the heck, it’s better to send a card, than feel guilty about someone we don’t remember.”

Another experiment showed that if waiters include mints on the check tray, their tips increase, and if a waiter adds extra mints---along with a smile to let that customer know he is special---the tip is even bigger.

Reciprocity becomes uncomfortable when instead of rewarding a kind action; it is converted into an obligation to return a favor. Like Yogi Berra said, “Always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t go to yours.” And of course, reciprocity can take an ugly twist when returning a “favor” turns into tit for tat.
Reciprocity in friendship is certainly different from mutual dislike---just ask the descendents of the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s.

The author, Alice Thomas Ellis was skeptical of mutual exchange altogether. She said, “There is no reciprocity. Men love women, women love children, children love hamsters.”

When my son, Josh was in first grade, a little boy came to our house to play. When he left, one of Josh’s toys was missing. “What do you suppose happened to the toy?” I asked Josh, who nonchalantly replied, “Johnny put it into his pocket.” I called Johnny’s mother, told her the story, and said, “I’m sure Johnny forgot he has it.” “Impossible,” was her reply. “I’ll be right over,” I said. After a short search, we found Josh’s toy. I said to Johnny, “If you want to keep Josh’s toy, you need to give him one of yours.” “I don’t want to” was Johnny’s response---so much for reciprocity. His mother took the toy and told me they were moving to Alabama. I went home and counted the silverware.

Esther Blumenfeld (scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours---OW!)