Backing Up

I have never liked class reunions because they are too much like jogging backwards. I prefer remembering my classmates, and the good times we had, frozen in my memory, as they were those many years ago. Bennett Cerf said, “Middle age is when your classmates are so grey, wrinkled and bald they don’t recognize you.”

A reunion is “an assembly of people who have been separated.” Sometimes the separated part is a really good thing. My husband’s high school was in a very tough mill town. “BYOB” was written on the bottom of his reunion invitation. He said, “They want me to bring my own bottle for the fight after we all get together.”

I enjoyed my high school years and have stayed in touch with a few old (and getting older) chums. However, in many instances old friends are like old shoes. Some just don’t fit anymore.

Instead of attending my high school class reunion a few years ago, I paid $25 for a video of the reunion. It was the best $25 I have ever spent. I watched people I didn’t recognize milling about, and wondered why one of my classmate’s mother attended our reunion. Then I realized it wasn’t her mother---it was she! I watched a fellow, who used to play “Blue Moon” on his trombone, try out his skill as a hypnotist. He tried to hypnotize 10 people in the front row. I dozed off immediately, but when I woke up 20 minutes later, he finally broke into a sweat and gave up. He should have stuck to the trombone.

I pulled out my old yearbook to see if I could recognize more of those people on my video, since some of them had probably scribbled, “Best of Luck” in it, and told me that I was “Swell.” A few of them might even have spelled my name right. The photos were of young kids. I didn’t want to see even one recent photo or hear about the arrest record that accompanied it.

Our past class president, a really nice man, was suckered into planning the reunion. Mr. Google provides several hints to making this kind of get-together as painless as possible. Here are some of the Google suggestions:

 1.   “Look for memories. Ask people to tell stories about someone that left a mark on you.” This could be very rewarding or cause a lawsuit.

 2.    “Remind people of old friendships.” Just remember that some people choose to forget and some people have no choice.

 3.     “Talk about old songs or sporting events.” It’s easier with a six-pack.

Kurt Vonnegut said it best: “True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.” I prefer keeping sweet memories in my mental museum.

Esther Blumenfeld (I’m not who I used to be, but my earrings still fit.)

Que Sera Sera

A few years ago, I was invited to a black-tie affair in San Francisco, hosted by my friend, Bonnie---the foremost real estate agent for Victorian homes in that magnificent city. She welcomed 500 guests to her estate. They were fed by the staffs of three caterers, and entertained by three bands that rocked the rafters from 8:00 at night until the sun shone on stragglers the next day.

I wandered around the crowded house eves-dropping on conversations while admiring beautiful people in their designer gowns and tuxedos. Several women wore shoes that cost more than my airline ticket. When I climbed the stairs to the 3^rd floor ballroom, it seemed as if all 500 guests were at the bar or gyrating on the dance floor. Many of them were plastered, but I was merely stuck to the wall, unable to move.

Several young women were shouting at one another above the din. One of them said, “I’ve been accepted to nursing school.” When asked about her boyfriend, she said, “I dumped him!” But she added, that she had recently purchased a boxer. I assumed she meant a dog, but wasn’t sure since I was in San Francisco.

Later in the evening, fresh entertainment arrived---a cartoonist, an opera singer and a palm reader. The guests, who hadn’t yet lost their hearing, gathered around the grand piano on the main floor, and others lined up to either get their likeness sketched or their palms read.

I spied the young woman from the ballroom standing in line with her friends waiting for the palm reader. I said to the young woman, “You really don’t need to wait, because I can read your palm.” “You can?” she said. “Yes,” I replied as she extended her hand. I asked for silence and gazed at her palm. I said, “You have recently traded in your boyfriend for a boxer.” Her friends gasped. She looked at me awestruck. “And,” I added, “You will go to nursing school, meet a nice doctor and have a happy life.” Then I left. I threw in that last part about the doctor and a happy life, because I got carried away with my forecasting ability, but thought it couldn’t hurt.

An hour later, I joined the sedate group around the piano. The opera singer had left, and I finally found a conversation worth joining. A woman tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, I was upstairs and saw you reading that young woman’s palm.  I have to know. Are you psychic?” “No,” I replied, “I’m Jewish.” She looked very confused as she left to get another drink.

No one knows what the future will bring, so I recommend that people stay positive, open minded and hopeful. But if you want to guess about the future, remember what Niels Bohr said; “Prediction is very difficult, especially if it’s about the future.” Then there are gems such as:

“Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?” (H.M. Warner, Warner Brothers 1927.)

“We don’t like their sound, and guitar music is on the way out.” (Decca Records Company rejecting the Beatles, 1962.)

“I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.” (Thomas Watson, Chairman of IBM, 1943)

“And for the tourist who wants to get away from it all, Safaris in Viet Nam—a popular holiday for the 1960’s” (Newsweek)

Not a psychic in the bunch. Que Sera Sera.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Sensible and responsible women do not want to vote.” Grover Cleveland, U.S. President 1905) 

Face To Face

Early in the evening, while sitting outside on their deck, my son and daughter-in-law often see two foxes frolicking in the woods behind their house. They have named one, “Mangy Fox” and the other, “Foxy Lady.” First impressions do make a difference.

Years ago, a young man spied my beautiful college roommate sitting at a table in a restaurant. He told his friends, “I’m going to marry that girl.” On their first date, she vomited on his shoes. He married her anyway. Twenty years later, she divorced him, because he had found a younger woman with a better digestive system.

The thing about a first impression is that you can only have it once, and it is terribly difficult to admit that your instincts are wrong. So many times first impressions are made solely on, “Wow! That person looks good to me.” However, when that person starts talking and you have to pretend to listen, you just might have been wrong.

Con men are good at first impressions. The man at the top of a pyramid scheme always looks and sounds good, but don’t shake hands with him because you’ll never get yours back.

On the other hand, while you are making a first impression about someone else, you are also creating one about yourself, and you never have a do over. When walking down 5^th Avenue in New York City, my friend, Sally tapped a woman on the shoulder and said, “Could you please tell me the time?” and the woman screamed, “You don’t touch people in New York City.” Sally never did find out what time it was, but she obviously made an impression on that woman.

Greetings are like that. When meeting someone for the first time, it’s probably not a good idea to call that person “Dude” or “Babe” unless he’s on a horse, and she has one leg over her motorcycle.

If you can’t make a good impression, you might want to make a bad one. At least you will know that you won’t be forgotten. Sometimes mangy is just as memorable as foxy.

Esther Blumenfeld (“I don’t like that man. I must get to know him better.” Abraham Lincoln)

Half A Loaf

The definition of compromise is to, “make a deal between two different parties, where each party gives up a portion of their demand.” Sometimes, when people can’t agree, they will hire a neutral third party, a mediator, to referee the negotiations, and hopefully steer them toward a workable solution.

I have a friend, a professional mediator, who was called upon to help with a management/labor dispute. The people involved were shut into a windowless, smoke-filled room. Ashtrays filled up quickly as the arguments became more heated.

My friend, the mediator, started coughing and said, “I need a break. It’s too smoky in here. I can’t breathe. Could you please stop smoking for the rest of the meeting?” and he left the room. When he returned, the union leader said, “Mr. Mediator, while you were gone, we came to an agreement.” “That is so good to hear,” said my friend. “I knew that reasonable people could compromise. What did you agree upon?” “Well,” said the representative of management, “Since we are a tobacco company, we didn’t think you should tell us to stop smoking, so we agreed to let you go.”

“Sometimes you even have to compromise with yourself such as, “I’m on a diet, so I’ll only eat one Ding-Dong instead of three.” Making decisions (other than pronouncements by dictators) calls for some give and take, and if you are lucky, you’ll end up with a happy balance and not a grudge. Of course, the alternative to compromise is doing nothing. The 112^th U.S. Congress was especially gifted in this area.

Gerald F. Seib, wrote in the Wall Street Journal about a new model of compromise to get polarized politicians in Washington, D.C. beyond impasse. He wrote about a group called, “No Labels” consisting of Republicans, Democrats and Independents, who have formed to find the “new politics of problem solving.” They met in New York City on 1/14/2013 to build trust across the aisle. I assume they met, but I haven’t read anything about that gathering. Maybe they are still arguing about whether to turn the heat up or down in the meeting room.

If this group discovers a way to be conciliatory, the public might think them brilliant, rather than maybe they didn’t understand the depth of the problems to begin with. The good thing about compromise is that once you have agreed, you don’t have to think up any more stupid questions to delay the proceedings.

A compromising position is when a person is openly exposed doing something of which he or she is blatantly guilty, such as telling someone you baked a cake from scratch, and he finds the cake mix box in the garbage. It can be very embarrassing when a congressman falls into the Potomac River with his stripper girlfriend instead of being where he was supposed to be---a gathering of avid bird watchers.

A good compromise is when people come to a middle of the road agreement, and accept that they can’t have everything they want. The author, Christopher Myers put it best. “Compromise is when one person wants to rob a bank and the other person does not---so they compromise to rob a person outside the bank.”

Esther Blumenfeld (If you bend you won’t break, but you might have a very sore back.)