FIFTEEN PRESIDENTS AND ME

One of my favorite books is “All About Me” written by Mel Brooks. Borrowing from his title, I decided, for my 90th Birthday to write a kind of “All About Me” with snippets about all of the Presidents who served during my lifetime.

In 1939 I had my 3rd birthday on the ship coming to America. Franklin Roosevelt was President, and with the help of a small congregation in Springfield, Missouri as well as the Junior Senator of the State, my family and I escaped the Nazis. Speaking German, I refused to learn English, because I wanted people to speak the way I did.  My Father told my Mother not to worry because, “The children on the street will teach her English.”  Everyday I’d come into the house after playing outside, and everyday, Mother would ask me if I learned any English.  I always said, “Nein!”  One day she asked me, “ Did you learn any English today?” and I said,
“SHIT!, BOOGER!, !.FART!”  On the radio, we listened to President Roosevelt’s Fireside Chats. 
However, one day he announced that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor—“A day in infamy,” and the U.S. was at war.

On April 12, 1945 President Roosevelt died, and his Vice President, (who had only served for 82 days) became President. Harry Truman, the former Junior Senator of Missouri—who helped save our lives—became President of  the United States. Truman was a feisty fellow. I always liked his response when in 1950, Paul Hume, a Washington Post Music Critic wrote a negative review about Margaret Truman (Harry’s daughter) and her singing. The President sent a handwritten letter calling Hume “an eight ulcer man on four ulcer pay,” and he threatened that if he ever met Hume, “He will need a new nose.”  I always wished that my Father had the same response, when a tall, big boy called me a “Dirty German!” I raised my fist and bloodied his nose while shouting, “I am an American Girl!” 

In 1953, a year before I went to college, Dwight Eisenhower became President.  He must have liked the person who drove him around, because he decided that the United States needed many more highways and less railways.  Even today, when I am caught in a traffic jam, I think of Dwight Eisenhower.  He intensely disliked his Vice President, Richard Nixon because he felt that “Nixon isn’t cut out for the role of President.” I always wondered if that was why he had a heart attack during his second term.

John Kennedy, the youngest man to be elected, became President on January 20, 1961. Ike viewed Kennedy as a “young whippersnapper,” but when he met him in the 1960’s he grew to like and respect him. By then, I had graduated from the University of Michigan, and gotten married in1958. A few professors  had influenced my professional life. Professor Roe, who taught playwriting encouraged me to consider it for a profession.  I took his advice fifty years later.
What do I remember about John Kennedy? It was easy to identify with a young , articulate President, and enjoy his glamorous family who gave us a touch of Camelot. I remember the first televised debate between Kennedy and Nixon.  Kennedy was cool—Nixon was covered in sweat.  Kennedy gambled twice and won when avoiding the Cuban Missile Crisis with Russia, and when Marilyn Monroe sang “Happy Birthday, Mr. President “ at the celebration.  His assassination on January 20,1961 was a great tragedy for the Nation.

On that day, in 1961, Lyndon Johnson became President, and all of his good works for a Great Society and Civil Rights were overshadowed by a continuing war in Viet Nam. I also didn’t like to see our President pick his dog up by the ears. However the highlight of our lives happened on August 18, 1967 when my husband, Warren and I became parents of our dear baby, Joshua.
 
TO BE CONTINUED———-Esther Blumenfeld

SORRY ABOUT THAT

When I was a little girl, my nemesis, LuAnn Perinood, bit me on the arm. I went home crying, and my Uncle Harry roared, “I’m going to kill her!” Eventually, I forgave LuAnn, but I never quite forgave my Uncle Harry for not carrying out his promise. He shouldn’t have said he was going to kill her, if he wasn’t going to do it.

Some people have a problem with saying, “I’m sorry.” I don’t understand that. If I’ve done something to be sorry about, I own up to it. Of course, “Sorry!” isn’t enough. For instance, if you step on a friend’s glass eye, you should offer to pay for it---or at least help him put it back in.

If you have offered a genuine apology, the other person should accept it, unless it’s something like eloping with your best friend’s fiancée. “I’m sorry,” might not sound sincere in that case.  Wait a few years.

Of course, there are some people who like their anger, and don’t have the capacity for forgiveness. Anne Lamott said, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”

If your child spills his drink on your sofa and says, “I’m sorry,” don’t yell at him. Just pretend that he is company and say, “Don’t worry about it.” Accidents happen. That’s why they are called “accidents,” not “on purposes.” And, by the way, what makes company more precious than your child?  But I digress.

Forgiveness is really a liberating emotion. A woman came to her rabbi and told 
him, “I have held a grudge against my sister for 20 years.” The rabbi, said,
“If I dropped a hot coal into your hand, what would you do?” She said, “I’d drop it.” “It’s time,” he replied, “to do that with your grudge.” My gift is that I can’t stay angry with anyone.  It’s simply too exhausting. I have learned, “Don’t let anyone live rent-free in your head.” 

The best advice I ever received about forgiveness is this: “Sometimes, the first step to forgiveness is understanding that the other person is a complete idiot.”

That’s comforting!

Esther Blumenfeld

PLAYING IT COOL

When it’s114 degrees outside no one has to tell me that, “It’s officially summer.” However, the weather certainly becomes a conversational icebreaker. Someone should really invent a stopwatch that pinches a person’s wrist the third time he says, “It’s hot outside.” When you live in the desert, everyone should know that summer means HOT! Unusual weather is the kind you get only when you are on vacation somewhere else---anywhere else.

When someone asks me, “Doesn’t it get hot in Tucson in the summer?” I always say, “Yes it’s terrible. I think you should move to Florida.” We already have enough people who have moved here. Until the monsoon rains arrive, with their spectacular lightening shows over the mountains, the Arizona heat is very dry. It feels something like sticking your head into an oven. I still find that preferable to (my Florida friends please forgive me) breathing in the swamp air in Florida, a place that gets so hot and humid that the dampness curls your toes.

As Mark Twain said, “Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.” 
Some people hate London when it’s not raining. Go figure. I guess they say, “Oh, 
Dear, it’s not raining again.” 

I find hot weather much less annoying than the people who complain about it. It’s not the heat, it’s the birdbrains who move to the desert and then say, “Wow, It’s hot in the desert.” 

Of course, no one would live here if it weren’t for that cool fellow, Willis Carrier, who invented the first modern air conditioner in Buffalo, New York. No wonder Buffalo is so cold in the winter.  Residential air conditioning was introduced in the 1920’s that enabled migration to the Sun Belt.

A few years ago, I took a river cruise on an old tub to Portugal. The air conditioner broke down, and since it was American made, they couldn’t get a part until after we limped to the next port. It was then, that I was happy I was a desert rat.  I had learned what the natives did in the summer heat in Tucson, before air conditioning was invented. I took the top sheet off of my bed, dampened it with cold water, wrapped myself in that wet sheet, and opened the balcony door. I cooled off the old fashioned way---covering my head when the flying bugs attacked.  It was kind of like an over heated horror movie.

While waiting for the cooling monsoon rains, I remind myself of the blizzards in Chicago, the icy roads in South Dakota, and shoveling mountains of snow in Indiana. As Carl Reiner said, “ A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.” And, as much as I hate to admit it---Weather really isn’t all about me.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Weather forecast for tonight: Dark!) George Carlin

NOODLE BRAINS AND OTHER CHOICES

Teddy Roosevelt said, “In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing.”

Everyday, we have all kinds of choices. Go to the grocery store and decide which cantaloupe to buy. You can thump, press and smell it, and still wind up with a dud, but there’s an easy solution for that choice. The mushy melon can be dumped into the garbage or returned to the store.

It’s not so easy when choosing people who will have an impact on our lives. I have a friend who married a beautiful, vivacious woman. His bride was 25 years his junior. The marriage didn’t last because he said, “My history was her trivia.”
When I was a kid, I asked my Mother, “How will I know when I’m in love?” She said, “You’ll know,” but she never told me how. I guess she should have said, “Finding a best friend is a good start.”

For those who say; ”Everything happens for a reason,” my answer is, “Sometimes the reason is that you made a bad choice.” The choices you make matter.

When I lived in Georgia, two men were running for Governor. The Democrat was an avowed racist, and the Republican was a noodle brain. At the same time, there were two excellent gubernatorial candidates in California---one a Democrat and the other a Republican.  I could have, in good conscience, voted for either one of them. However, being a resident of Georgia, I had to decide which wrong choice felt the least wrong, so I voted for the noodle brain. Plato said, “If you don’t vote, you will be governed by your inferiors.” In Georgia, I had no choice about who was running for office. I could only do the best with the deck I was dealt.

SPOILER ALERT!  Obviously, I am getting into the realm of politics---something you are advised never to talk about at a party.

I have discovered that you can talk about politics before dinner, during dinner and after dinner---if you are with like-minded people. However, if that is not the case, it’s a good way to call it an early evening, and get home in time for the NBA playoffs.

One of my favorite poets, Robert Frost wrote; “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I---I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”  I don’t believe in chance. I believe in choice, and that we are all accountable for our actions.

Bear with me. I’m trying to be diplomatic here---keeping in mind that, “Diplomacy is the art of saying, ‘Nice Doggie’ until you can find a rock.” (Will Rogers)

As citizens, we are asked to make a monumental decision in November. I am not so presumptuous as to tell people how to vote, but to quote my friend, Robert Orben, “Do you ever get the feeling that the only reason we have elections is to find out if the polls were right?”

Esther Blumenfeld (“You can lead a man to Congress, but you can’t make him think.”) Milton Berle

NOT THAT KIND OF POT

While channel flipping on my television set, I discovered that one of the “Housewives” had hired a potty trainer for $2000 to toilet-train her little two-year- old daughter. The deal was that in two days the job would be done. That’s a $1000 a day to get the kid to pee in a pot.

My practical friend, Paula said, “The money would have been better spent on some expensive bottles of wine. Mommy could enjoy drinking it, relax and let nature take its course.” I think she’s right.  I have never met anyone in college who hasn’t been potty trained.

I have, however, met college kids with potty mouths. When I was in college, I brought some colorful language home with me for my first visit. My Dad reminded me that, “English is such a robust language. Surely you can find more acceptable words to express yourself.” I studied the dictionary and cleaned up my act.

Years ago, I took a taxi from the airport to my hotel in New York. The driver hailed from a Middle Eastern Kingdom where they never taught him how to turn off his automobile emergency blinker. Of course, every driver that passed us, shouted, “Your emergency blinker is on.” Whereupon he would yell back, “Your Mother is a camel.”

The problem with using obscene words from a foreign language is that the recipient---as well as the person throwing them around doesn’t often understand them.  For instance, many times I have heard someone call another person a “Putz.”  It is obvious to me that they do not understand that “Putz” has nothing to do with golf. 

Sometimes, obscenities are relegated to gestures. I have a friend who, when cut off in traffic, shot the other driver a hand gesture. “What are you doing?” I asked her. She responded, “I am giving him the finger.”  “No,” I replied. “You are giving him the thumb.”

Sometimes, it’s all in the translation.

Esther Blumenfeld