WAIT A MINUTE

Samuel Beckett wrote a play called, WAITING FOR GODOT. For two acts the audience watches two men sitting on bench waiting for a mysterious figure named Godot—who just never shows up. If you are brave enough to see this play more than once (spoiler alert) know that Godot still won’t show up.

Patience can be a test, which I recently discovered, when I was stuck in an elevator that usually takes me to my apartment.  I had gone grocery shopping,  arrived at my floor, entered my apartment, put the grocery bags (and my purse) on the kitchen counter, and went back to the elevator to ride down again in order to put my little shopping cart back into the car. 

Then I came back, pushed the elevator button, got onto the elevator and rode up to my floor. But when I arrived—-the elevator doors refused to open. My cell phone was in my purse.  Consequently, I pushed the “HELP BUTTON! which connects to me an elevator person in Canada.  I told her that I was stuck, and asked her to call people at the Concierge Desk, and I gave her the number.  She said she would do that but first told me to push all the button and hold one of the buttons.  I pushed and then kept pushing the HELP BUTTON so maybe someone in the building would hear it.  

Then I remembered that someone once said, “The beauty of waiting is the anticipation of what’s to come.  I anticipated that the ice cream  on my counter was melting.  Finally, I heard voices on the other side of the elevator. Yes, patience can be a test!  After 20 minutes, standing in a metal box, I got off.  And, the brilliant Concierge person said, “Did you push all the buttons?”  I counted to ten before responding, “Do you think I am a moron?” She is still thinking about that.

Mark Twain said, “All good things arrive unto them that wait—and don’t die in the meantime.”

I must admit that it’s always been hard for me to “Wait for the dust to settle,” or to “Hold your horses.”  For me, biding my time is a waste of time.  For instance:
 
 It’s hard for me to sit through a meeting that could have been sent in a simple e-mail. 
Cooling my heels is difficult when I come to the front of a  Grocery Store line, with my 6 items, and the receipt roller runs out of paper and the store manager has to show the new clerk how to replace the roll.
Being put “On Hold”  on the telephone by a robot who keeps saying “Your call is important to us” and makes me listen to torturous music that makes my blood boil.
A “Back Soon” sign posted on a store door, and I don’t know when the guy left.
And, anticipation takes on a whole new meaning when a waiter says, “I’ll be right with you.”
It should be considered an Olympic sport waiting in line to receive a Driver’s License.

It is probably a healthy thing to stay calm when under duress.  Consequently,  I swear I am going to try to be more like Margaret Thatcher when she said, “I am extraordinarily patient provided I get my own way in the end!”

Esther Blumenfeld 

PACK IT IN

Spinner wheels on suitcases have made schlepping  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.

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

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.

In 2015, 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. 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.

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?

If someone in my Senior Residence got some rooster-less chickens, it might not be so bad, because by now 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

CHEAPEST FACELIFT IS A SMILE

There’s an old cure for rheumatism: Kill a rattlesnake, skin it, dry it, put the remains in a jug of corn whiskey and then drink it! 

People have used home remedies forever. Early American settlers applied urine to outbreaks of acne, and although there is no science to support the pee-on-the-face cure, even Elvis Presley’s mother used urine whenever “The King” had a childhood earache. No wonder he twitched so much.

A doctor once told me to put a drop of vodka in each ear to prevent Swimmer’s Ear.  Now that I am no longer sticking my head under water, I figure a vodka-tonic can do the same thing. No Swimmer’s Ear for me!

I must admit that every time I go to see my excellent doctor, I bring him a new home remedy that I have discovered has worked for me. For instance, for awhile I was getting pain in my legs, and there was seemingly no reason for this phenomenon, until the day I went to buy new hiking shoes and the young salesman said, “Lady, You need a size bigger shoe.” Who knew that old feet keep growing? After I replaced my entire shelf of ill fitting shoes, my wallet shrank and my leg pains disappeared. 

The next time I went to see my patient doctor, I showed him my two rubber duckies that light up and squeak when I squeeze them. Squeezing those little ducks, when I go hiking, strengthens my hands and keeps animals as well as fellow hikers at bay.

 I read that putting uncooked rice into a sock, and then heating it in a microwave oven, makes a good heating pad for a sore elbow or shoulder.  I had no regular rice in my cupboard, so I used Rice-A-Roni instead. My heating pad smells delicious!

One time, my father-in-law, the dentist, told me to stick a wet teabag in my mouth. I’m not sure if it was to stem a bit of bleeding from an extracted tooth, or to shut me up since I was chiding him for voting for Richard Nixon.

My greatest home remedy achievement is my “Aches and Pains” topical cream.
My doctor told me to get this at a Compounding Pharmacy, but when I saw the ingredients in the cream, I figured, “I can do this.”  So, I got out my mortar and pestle, and ground up some very old heavy duty Ibuprofen, that had been taking up room in my medicine chest for years. I added a slug of Arnica Cream, some Menthol Gel and a pinch of cold cream (just for the heck of it.)  It worked just fine, and my doctor said he was going try to whip up a batch for himself.  

My neighborhood pharmacist told me that I could make a fortune from my “Aches and Pains” cream, since he sells a prescription for a similar concoction for a lot more money than my home remedy costs.

Next time I see my doctor, I am going to tell him to suggest that his patients walk with their shoulders thrust back, instead of hunching forward.  It has to be better than compressing the lungs. And I am going to suggest that his hiking patients get walking sticks. A walking stick is lots of fun to twirl, when no one is looking, and very helpful, unless you toss it into the air and it hits you on the head.  

Then I suggest a bag of frozen peas on the noggin.  

Esther Blumenfeld (“The only cure for a real hangover is death”) 
Robert Benchley

BEING ME

Recently, I received a “Who Are You Anyway?” Questionnaire.  It started out just fine:
Name, Address, Phone Number, and Date.  But then the questions started getting nosy:

Birthdate:   In other words, “Will You live long enough to fill out this questionnaire?”

2.   Previous Address and How Long There?  If you answer, “One Week”, does that mean you are a deadbeat who didn’t pay the rent?

3.  “What language do you speak?” I answered, “Depends what country I’m in.”

4.  “Where did you grow up?”  “Missouri, South Dakota, Indiana, Michigan, Illinois, California, Georgia and Arizona…since I am still trying to do that!”

5.  “If you have children, where do they reside?”   “In a House.”

6.  “Where did you go to school?” “Kindergarten in Springfield, Missouri.”

7.  “Do you have any pets?” “I have a hummingbird who sits in the fake tree on my patio every afternoon.”

8.  “Are you interested in pet therapy?” “Sure!” “Can I complain about my neighbor’s dog?”

9.  “Do you prefer group or solo activities?” “ Depends on what we are doing.  I like to shower by myself. However, sometimes I prefer a solo activity in a group.”

10. “What brightens your day?”  “Brushing my teeth.”

11.  “What would today’s prayer include?”  “ That I never, ever am asked to fill out a questionnaire letting you get to know me.”

Esther Blumenfeld