FORGIVE AND FORGET

My dear mother-in-law told me, “Live long enough and you will see everything.”She was right! So many times something will happen that I have never experienced before—sometimes
good—sometimes not so good.

Last week, I was enjoying having dinner with a dear friend in one of the restaurants where we live, when two women entered and came to our table.  The nice woman introduced us to her companion, whereupon her companion looked at me and angrily said,”I’ve met you before in the elevator, and you were rude to me!” Then I remembered her.

Six months before, when I entered the elevator, someone introduced me to this same woman. When she heard my name, she said, “I know your religion by your name.”  As the elevator doors opened for my exit, I replied, “There are other people with my name who practice other religions.”

So, for six months, this angry woman carried a grudge around like a load of bricks, but she was too stubborn to put it down.  I looked at her sullen face, and I said, “I’m sorry if I was rude” and she replied, “I don’t forgive you,” and she left in a huff.  At that, I remembered what Buddha said, all those many years ago, “ The grudge you hold on to is like a hot coal that you intend to throw at someone, only you are the one who gets burned.”

When my shocked dinner companion looked at me, I said, “Well, I hope she’s considering never to speak to me again. That will teach me!”

Grudges are a waste of time, and life is just too short to waste.  So, I will laugh a lot when I can. Apologize even when I shouldn’t , and let go of what I can’t change. But, not before I waste material for a good story.

ADDENDUM:  That night, I had a dream that I was in a wet suit, and I was in a deep dive in the ocean, when I saw a whale entangled in a fisherman’s net.  All night long, I cut that net off of that whale until she was finally free and swam off into the night…just before I woke up.

Esther Blumenfeld

A BIG FAT SICILIAN REHABILITATION

My neighbor, Giovanni fell off a step stool, hurt his knees and cracked his shoulder. The ambulance took him to the hospital. Luckily, nothing was broken, except his pride, but the doctor insisted that he check into a rehabilitation facility for physical therapy.  His wife, Maria suffers from low vision, and is no longer able to drive. The timing of this incident couldn’t have been worse. He fell on   Friday before the beginning of Passover, and then--- Easter Sunday was to follow.

Giovanni’s health insurance provided a few rehab selections, but most of them required a stay in the hospital before admittance. So, since Giovanni had not been hospitalized, he was checked into a highly recommended Jewish rehab facility near their home.

On Saturday morning when the nurse asked Giovanni what he wanted for breakfast, he gestured with his good arm (as only an Italian can) and bellowed with his expressive Sicilian voice, “Eggs and toast, please.” “You can have the eggs, said the nurse, but no toast! It’s Passover, I’ll bring you matzo.” Giovanni, the life-long Catholic was going to have his first “bread of affliction,” which kind of resembles communion wafers without the wine chaser. However, prune juice is a healthy substitute.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Exodus story here’s a quick rundown. When the enslaved Jews escaped their Egyptian taskmasters, there was no time to leaven their bread. To this day Jews all over the world, when celebrating Passover, are stuck with a week of flat bread called matzo.

On Easter Sunday, I drove Maria to the rehab facility, so she and Giovanni could spend the holiday together. Giovanni had told her on the phone about the matzo ball (dumpling) soup, and a kind of matzo pancake with syrup. Her response was, “I guess that means, no ham for Easter.”  

When we walked toward his room, all the way down the hall, we could hear the hockey game on television. Maria shouted, “Turn off the TV! Why have you been playing it so loud?” “Because,” he answered, “the Evangelicals in the next room have been carrying on for hours. I have gotten more Evangelical religion than any one Catholic should have to endure while eating his matzo ball soup.”

Giovanni said, “I don’t know what I have been eating, but thank God for my friends.” I had brought him chocolate truffles, and another friend had smuggled in a pastrami sandwich, and stood guard at the door while Giovanni inhaled it. 
He then garnered enough strength to lead a wheelchair-rider-revolution about lack of salt and peppershakers in the cafeteria.

A shy, young nurse hesitantly came into the room, and quickly stuck a thermometer into Giovanni’s mouth. She asked, Maria, “Does he shout around the house? He sure yells at all of us.” He of the loud voice, removed the thermometer, and boomed, “I’ve been shouting at her for 63 years.” And, Maria, with a twinkle in her eyes replied, “And that’s why I never wear my hearing aids. 
Wait until the physical therapist arrives tomorrow. You ain’t heard nothing yet!” 

They threw him out after two days.

Esther Blumenfeld  (“It’s not easy being green”) Kermit

HOLD THAT THOUGHT

Okay! So yesterday I woke up with a case of laryngitis, and I sounded very much like an unhappy Bullfrog. Since I couldn’t communicate through my nose, and the Good Lord provided me with three other holes in my head, I had no choice but to use two of them for listening, and keep the other one closed until further notice.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said, “The human voice is the organ of the soul.” Well, Henry tell that to a Trappist Monk. So, for the time being, I had to shut down my voice until I could find a cure for my ailing vocal cords. Not wanting to bother my doctor with silly stuff, I decided to Google the Mayo Clinic website, and see what their physicians recommended.

The Google Mayo doctors informed me that my vocal cords were stressed, and that the best cure was to keep my mouth shut. They also warned that whispering is even worse for the ailment than speaking in a normal voice. 

After drinking my fill of tea with honey and lemon, I decided to skip the lemon and add a shot of whiskey. It didn’t improve my croaking, but it did cheer me up---as did several friends whom I had e-mailed about my predicament. They called and suggested that perhaps I should take my frog act on the road. One friend suggested that faking laryngitis was an inventive way to avoid talking with people you don’t want to talk to.

Vincent Van Gogh made a suggestion that I found not helpful at all. He said, “If you hear a voice within you saying ‘You cannot paint’ then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced. Since the only voice I had was now in me, I remembered another time when I was in grade school and my inner voice had suggested that I wasn’t much of an artist. My teacher confirmed it when she looked at my painting and said, “That is the worst painting I have ever seen.” I suspect that Vincent would have turned his bad ear in her direction.

Life is not fair! Why do I have laryngitis while all those fool politicians keep right on talking? I’m sure that soon both time and whiskey-tea will take care of the problem. In the meantime, in my stead, please lend your voice to a good cause until I’m back in the saddle again.

Esther Blumenfeld---Speak softly and carry a big shtick.

Good Bye OLD FRIEND

My car has a new safety feature—ME! 

I’m not driving anymore.  After 85,000 miles, and 21 accident-free years, I decided to give up my little old Saturn as long as I could still find it in the parking lot. I did not want live to be so old that I terrify people, and I still take life one mile at a time.

A driver where I live forgot where she was going which is especially frightening when encountered with a road closure and a detour. I don’t like unexpected scenic views.

It’s not my driving that scared me—it’s those other people. For instance, a stop sign is more than a suggestion, and turn signals should not be a guessing game. Consequently, I always drove like I only have one life to live, and I irritated other drivers because I drove the speed limit..

I don’t look at giving up my car as a bad thing, but rather than I am just transitioning to a new speed. Also, I am very fortunate that transportation is available where I live. 

Of course, there’s always Lyft, but I don’t like it because my Mother always told me not to 
get into a car with a stranger.

Esther Blumenfeld

WHERE IS SHIRLEY?

I have a new friend named, Joyce. She told me that she took a minor tumble and hit her knee, but it was okay because her knee is made of titanium. I told her that she is the first person I have ever met who has a museum knee. The Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain, designed by architect, Frank Gehry is constructed out of titanium, glass and limestone.  As far as I know, Joyce’s knee does not contain glass or limestone. However, her knee did remind me of an adventure I had, on a cruise that arrived in Bilbao, Spain.

I arrived in New York a day before the cruise, where I met five women who would be sailing with me—two sisters and three of their friends.  However, shortly after I met them, one of the women fell and broke her arm, so now there were—two sisters and two of their friends. 
Unfortunately, one of the other women cut her foot on a piece of glass, and, because she was on blood thinners, she had to go to the hospital. Now, there were three women left—the two sisters and Shirley.

One of the highlights of the trip was our tour to the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao.  I remember that the outside titanium walls of the Museum moved when they were touched. I don’t remember any of the exhibits inside, but making a wall move with my hand was certainly memorable. After the tour, I returned to the ship with the other passengers.

The two sisters invited me to join them at High Tea at 4:00 p.m. where they also planned to meet up with Shirley.  All passengers were required to be aboard ship at 4:00 p.m because the ship was scheduled to leave at 5:00 p.m. 4:00 p.m. came and went, but Shirley did not show up, so after checking her cabin one of the sisters reported her missing.  Then  every ten minutes the announcements began; “ “Shirley, in cabin….please report to the Reception Desk.”
Then the rumors began, “Maybe, she jumped overboard,”  “Maybe, she was pushed”  Maybe, she was kidnapped.”

It was now 5:00 p.m and the tide was calling so we had to depart. A member of the staff got off the ship to search for missing Shirley. Finally, an announcement calmed everyone that Shirley had been found in Bilbao. What was not told was that she was found sitting in a hotel room where she had complained to the concierge that her luggage had been stolen.

Before the cruise,  Shirley had put a sea-sickness patch behind her ear, but being Shirley, she surmised that two patches would be better than one, and consequently, she began to hallucinate.  Naturally, after this mishap, Shirley was not allowed to re-board the ship anywhere, so her son-in-law had to fly to Dublin (our next stop) to pick her up.  Unfortunately, the weather turned bad, and the sea turned rough, so we weren’t’ allowed to enter the port, but the two sisters did wave a not-so-fond farewell to Shirley— as well as— her extremely rain soaked and  aggravated- looking son-in-law.

Esther Blumenfeld