YES--"NO" IS AN ANSWER

One of my all-time favorite books is a little literary companion titled, Rotten Reviews” edited by Bill Henderson in 1986.  It is a compilation of “mistaken, shallow and hostile reviews of books---highlighting nasty attacks on authors and on works that have become classics.”

For instance, a San Francisco Examiner rejection letter sent to Rudyard Kipling in 1889 said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.” 

And then, there was the London Critic’s review of Walt Whitman’s, “Leaves of Grass” in 1855. “Whitman is as unacquainted with art as a hog is with mathematics.”

Every writer has faced rejection. “No!” is a painful part of the job.  After many years in the profession, I learned that life isn’t about answers; it’s about asking the right questions. In other words, when I needed an interview for a story, and someone’s secretary would say, “Can’t give you an appointment this month,” I’d thank her and then say, “Okay, connect me to someone who can.” Or, “I can write the story without the interview, quoting all the things that other people say about him.” That always worked!

Toddlers learn to say, “No!” early in their development. Being a bit smarter than a toddler, I discovered that double negatives work---“You don’t mind taking your nap now, do you?”  “No!” says the child and you have given her something to ponder before napping.

The older I get, the more I find the “No!” answer unacceptable without a pretty good reason attached. After a soldier yelled “No,” at me, I took a forbidden photo at The Great Wall of China---not realizing there was a military installation in the background. I took photos inside the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg when the old lady guard was sleeping, and when machine gunned soldiers jumped out of their armored trucks to collect bank deposits during the IRA problems, I took a picture before they yelled, “No photos.” All that Irish whiskey had clogged my ears.

Recently, at a charity banquet, an officious woman said to me, “You can’t put your coat on the back of your chair until the doors are officially open.” 
“Too late,” was my response. “I already found an open door.” I wanted to add, “I’m too old for this crap,” but I didn’t.

My co-author, Lynne Alpern and I received 20 rejections before we got a publisher for our first book, Oh, Lord, I Sound Just Like Mama. All of the editors liked the book, but they said “No,” because their marketing people had told them, “This book won’t sell.”

When it was finally published, it received excellent reviews, was on several “Best Seller” lists around the Country and sold over 250,000 copies. 

Granted, one day, “No” will be the final answer for me. I can accept that. But, in the meantime, I will keep opting for “Yes”---not only---“Yes,” but “HELL, YES!”

Esther Blumenfeld (Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, 1877, “Sentimental rubbish. Show me one page that contains an idea.” The Odessa Courier

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