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

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