PACK IT IN

Spinner wheels on suitcases have made schlepping my stuff through airports much easier. However, deciding on what to put into those suitcases is always a conundrum. Of course, it’s wise to travel light, but being a high-anxious person, I’ve never mastered that skill. My angst is often weather related. Is it going to be Hot? Cold? Rain? Blizzard? Tornado? Tsunami? I really should be prepared for everything.

I have friends who can pack for a trip in ten minutes. The only justification I can rationalize for this deftness is if the contractions are two minutes apart.

As hard as I try to be reasonable, I always manage to over-pack. Other people may stow away a couple of band-aids and a bottle of aspirin, while I will always be prepared to perform minor surgery.

On tour, I try to adhere to the customs of the country where I am visiting, and I want to be respectfully dressed when entering a house of worship---not like a fellow tourist in Portugal, who walked into a Cathedral wearing a tee shirt with the logo, “Wine makes me fart.”

I learned the hard way to pack more than one pair of slacks when in Spain; a waiter spilled a bottle of red wine all over my white slacks. I don’t speak Spanish all that well, but while trying to replace my dripping red slacks at a little roadside shop, I think I told clerk that I had been gored by the bulls in Pamplona.

Not trusting baggage handlers, I always pack a back-up carry-on with extra shoes and clothes. I worry that my suitcase could mistakenly end up in Kenya or Canada.  And, Yes, the satchel is too heavy for me to hoist into the overhead on a plane. The trick is to block the passenger aisle, and play the “old lady” card until some gullible fellow will help me out (lift the case not toss me out of the plane.) I never forget to pack my camera. I have scrapbooks filled with photos of places where I wasn’t supposed to take pictures, but that’s a story for another time.

Gangsters pack “heat,” but with security the way it is these days, I don’t pack anything more dangerous than a peanut butter sandwich. However, I am considerate enough to always ask my seatmate if he has an EpiPen on him before unpacking my lunch.

Packing is truly an art.  Gracie Gold said, “If I were packing for a deserted island, I would bring sunscreen, a water purifier, something to start a fire with, my sister and something for protection.”

I’m not sure if that was “for” or “from” the sister.

Esther Blumenfeld (Good idea to pack a lime just in case there’s scurvy going around.)

URBAN CHICKENS

The first experience I had with in-town chickens was when I was a little girl in South Dakota.  Chickens roamed freely in our neighbor’s backyard, and I enjoyed sitting in our tree watching her chase after them.  It was great sport, until the day she caught one of them by the neck, swung it up into the air, and ended up with the chicken’s head in her hand. The cluck less bird dropped to the ground, and kept right on running. That was the last time I played “Chicken Watcher” or read  THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW.

When my husband was in kindergarten, his neighbors kept chicken coops in their backyard, and he invited his whole class to come to his house for milk, cookies and chicken viewing.  Unfortunately, he had failed to tell his mother or the neighbors that they were coming. That was the last time he threw a surprise party.

Recently, with a unanimous vote, the Tucson City Council approved an urban agriculture amendment, allowing, backyard, food-producing animals at a residence. This involves using “animal units.” A chicken will count as one unit, and a turkey as four units. No male fowl are allowed, which takes the cock out of a-doodle-doo. Backyard coops have to be at least 20 feet from a neighbor’s house. One council member raised concerns about noise level regarding geese.

My brother’s house in Florida is next to a beautiful pond (once you scrape the green scum off the top of it). When he moved in, he thought the wild geese were charming, and he enjoyed feeding them the first day. The next day, he didn’t think they were so cute when he had to shovel his car out from under goose poop.

So now, in Tucson, people can raise chickens, and geese and hedgehogs. Yes, hedgehogs.  I suspect they are a bit chewy, but they come with their own toothpicks. The spiny little critters are now declared suitable in Arizona as house pets. The type sold won’t survive in the wild, which is a good thing, because our coyotes, hawks, bobcats and great horned owls would probably enjoy a hedgehog dessert after eating all that chicken. Having a hedgehog as a pet is like having a porcupine for a pet, but not as prickly.

It used to be that in Arizona people could own all kinds of animals except great apes. However, there were no laws preventing those primates from getting voted into the Arizona Legislature.

Now, if you own a Desert Tortoise, you can be fined for letting them reproduce in captivity. If you own a male and female, you are required to keep them separated, because when they go at it, there is no stopping them. Remember the story about the Tortoise and the Hare? The Tortoise never gave up and the Hare stopped to rest.  So, who gave bunnies that bad reputation?

When the creek bed behind my house is dry, I can walk down the road, past my neighbor’s show horses and on to another neighbor’s “Zoo.” He has some deer, a sorry looking bull-something, and a few peacocks. One of his peacocks escaped and landed in my front yard. I shooed it onto my neighbor’s roof, and it kept screeching, “Help, Help.”  That’s the way they sound. Finally, someone threw a raincoat over it, and took it back to the “Zoo.”

 If someone living here got some rooster-less chickens, it might not be so bad, because, after 21 years, I’ve gotten used to having a cluck or two in the neighborhood.

Esther Blumenfeld (“I did not become a vegetarian for my health, I did it for the health of the chickens.)  Isaac Bashevis Singer

A STICK, A STONE, AND SOME WORDS

Taking my hike this morning, I started to think (must have been the blood pumping while going uphill) about how unkind some people have become. Civil discourse is a thing of the past, and conversation has become a garbage dumping ground.  Johnny Depp warns us; “You gotta be careful: don’t say a word to nobody about nothing anytime ever.”

It seems as if people have forgotten that everything you say and everything you do affects someone else. Words can hurt and damage another person in profound ways.

Every morning, I first read the sports page and then the funny papers. I want to know what’s going on in sports, so I won’t look like a total fool when my friends wax poetic about football or basketball. And I know that occasionally I can glean some wisdom from the funnies.

In the balloons above a little cartoon character’s head, I recently read, “Before you say something, ask: Is it true? Is it kind” Is it necessary?” Sage questions indeed. Friendship can end in an instant because of a stupid word. However a sense of humor helps when it’s more of a slip of the tongue than an intentional slur.

Luckily, my friend, Paula is gifted with a keen wit, and often she is sneaky fast with a comeback.  Her husband, of blessed memory, was a renowned physician and professor, and often attended scientific meetings around the Country. One day, a woman said to Paula, “How do you know he’s being faithful to you when he’s gone?” Paula replied, “I know, because if he can’t publish it, he won’t do it.”

Atlanta, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, Ralph McGill was often criticized for his forthright columns in the Atlanta Constitution supporting the Civil Rights Movement. He was a Southerner who loved the South, but recognized the destructive effects of bigotry. His response to the poisonous criticism he received from some of his readers was always, “You just may be right,” which left no room for argument, and also intimated, “ And, you just may be wrong.” It was a powerful response given with civility.

Unfortunately, there are intrusive people who don’t know boundaries. Several years ago, I was taking a stroll in my neighborhood, happily talking to myself, when a neighbor, renowned for his boorishness, interrupted my conversation and said; “I just put a new roof on my house. It was very expensive. Do you want to know what I paid for it?”  “ No, I don’t,” I replied. “But, I want to tell you,” he said. “Sorry,” I replied.  “I still don’t want to know.”  It was a truthful statement.  I don’t think I was unkind, and it was certainly necessary since his roof was of no interest to me.  Now, his house is on the market.  I’m sure that when he sells it, he will send me a bill of sale---including the price of his roof. Some people are just like that.

Esther Blumenfeld  (“Be careful what you say---It has a habit of coming back to boomerang you on the bum.”) anonymous Australian

SURPRISE!

About 25 years ago, while I was shopping in a department store in Atlanta, a man called me by name, gave me a bear hug and said, “What a wonderful surprise running into you. It’s been years. You haven’t changed a bit!  How are you?” Backing away from him, I told him that I was fine, my husband was fine and my son was just fine, and then asked him, “How long has it been since we last ran into each other?”

He said, “Well, it’s been at least eight years. You know that seven years ago we got a divorce.” “No,” I replied, “I didn’t know that.” I didn’t know whether to say, “I’m sorry to hear that” or not. After all, it had been seven years.

The bear hugging man proceeded to tell me about his job and his son and other news such as, “You may have noticed that I grew a mustache.”  It wasn’t much of a mustache, so I didn’t think it called for much of a response, so I just nodded my head.

Finally, when he stopped to take a breath, I quickly jumped in with, “It, has really been something running into you after all of these years, but I have to go now. By the way, we are moving to Arizona, so I guess I won’t see you again.”

 He laughed and said, “What a coincidence. Sometimes I have business in Arizona. Maybe, one of these days I’ll surprise you again.”

I have been in Arizona for twenty-one years now, and to this day, I still have no idea who that man was, but if he shows up in Tucson, I can promise you, I won’t recognize him all over again. Surprises can be like that.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Live long enough and you will see everything.”) Fagel Blumenfeld

DO YOUR BEST

Wherever there’s a skill, there seems to be a competition for those who want to be recognized as the best at what they do.  There are contests in dance, voice, spelling, and even beauty, although I don’t think those contestants, in bathing suits, need as much skill as chess players.

A few years ago, I received a competition VHS tape from my window washer, Lou Bright. He is a member of the International Window Cleaning Association, and won a medal in the International Window Cleaning Contest. As a finalist, he had competed in three divisions: Speed, Skill and a Nine-Widow-Panel Obstacle Course.

The Obstacle Course is judged on accuracy and is very subjective like figure skating in the Olympics. A one-half point is taken off for every mistake. As I watched the tape, I saw the judges sitting directly on the other side of the windows. The contestants’ tools were: water, squeegees, and towels.

The first was a Speed Contest and the judges watched closely from the other side of the three panel window, as some of the competitors squeegeed from top to bottom and others from bottom to top, knocking off water in record speed. A short speedy Frenchman won in no time flat.

The next contest was for skill. The judges placed their noses close to the glass, intently staring out, while on the other side, combatants duked it out one-by-one aiming for accuracy. No drip could show up in this contest (water not person). And, as each contestant finished, the judges disdainfully pointed out little spots of water to the disappointed washer. The last contest, an Obstacle Course, involved a nine-pane trick window with a recessed frame.

IWCA was established in 1989 by a group of window cleaners from Lubbock, Texas who determined there should be a voice for those working in the industry.   Allied with OSHA, the Association provides members with safety information. Now hundreds of window cleaners from around the world convene at the International Window Cleaning Association Convention and Trade Show.

In 2008, window washing attracted the attention of the Mechanical Engineering Department at Michigan State University. A team of students competed against schools from all over the world---including Carnegie Mellon, Hong Kong Polytechnic, and Colorado State. They won with their window-washing robot called “Winboni,” a tiny square robot that runs on AA batteries and attaches itself to a window with a suction fan. It moves across the window with powered wheels and scrubs it clean with felt pads.

When he won his medal, my friend. Lou Bright thanked his customers and his wife and dedicated his medal to his father, who had always encouraged him to “Be the best at what you do.” Lou is the best at what he does.  He is a happy man who enjoys his work.  It allows him time to ski in the winter, and he had the privilege of washing a window at the Eiffel Tower in Paris.  How many people can say any of that?

Esther Blumenfeld (“Be good at something. It makes you valuable.”) Randy Pausch