Whose Joint Is This Anyway?

There was a very large prison on the outskirts of my hometown, and my father felt it humane to occasionally visit with the three incarcerated Jewish inmates. Usually, he would drag a few reluctant men from his congregation along with him, but it was difficult to find volunteers, as most people want to stay out of prison rather than to go in.

Two of the inmates were brothers, who, when they were nineteen and twenty years old, decided to hold up a bank in a small town situated on the commuter railway line. Since they didn’t have a car, they got off the train, held up the bank, and caught the next train back. The police at the other end picked them up. Proving that no matter what their mothers think---all Jewish children are not gifted. The other inmate, “Boom Boom” Julius was a reputed bagman for the mob.

Before we became engaged, W.S. thought it would be a nice gesture to ask my father for my hand in marriage. When he rang the bell, Dad answered the door, grabbed W.S. by the arm, yanked him inside, and shouted, ”Congratulations, Son! Do you want to go to prison?” That took some explaining, but W.S. did agree to accompany his future father-in-law. It was, as the boys inside would say, “an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

The three prisoners congratulated W.S. on our engagement and asked if they could come to the wedding. Dad, said, “If you can get out, you can come.” I was later told that an announcement of our forthcoming nuptials made it into the prison newspaper.

When Boom Boom discovered that he and W.S. came from the same hometown, he asked, “Do you know Morty Ross?” W.S. came from a very small town in Indiana. Everyone knew everyone else, Morty Ross had gone to school with his uncle, but how should W.S. answer this question?

This posed a dilemma. If W.S. answered, “Yes,” would Boom Boom kiss him on both cheeks or on the lips? Boom Boom was a scary guy. The tip of his nose touched his cheek. Someone must have put it there. And how did Boom Boom get his nickname? Did he play the drums as a child---or---was it something much worse? W.S. did not want to find out, so he said, “No, never heard of Morty Ross.”

Losing interest, Boom Boom shrugged, smiled and said, “Well, maybe the son-of-a bitch is dead,” as he walked away. I don’t know if the bank-robbing brothers ever got out of prison, but I heard years later that Boom Boom had been released and returned to his hometown. I never did find out what he did in his retirement.

Esther Blumenfeld (You think you have connections?  I have connections!)

CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld c 2006

What The Wind Blew In

Extreme windstorms in the desert blanket everything with dust. A brown haze hides the mountains, and people are urged to avoid driving if possible. I had a hard won appointment at the Apple Store with one of the computer experts at the “Genius Bar.”

Clutching my MacBook Pro, I blew into the store, brushed myself off, and sat at the “Genius Bar.” At the appointed hour, a red-haired, freckle-faced, 12-year-old kid (at least he looked that old) came through the inner door, where they hide their geniuses, and spoke my name. I described the problem and he said, “It’s time to toss your cookies.” That is when I first suspected that either the dust had blown into his brain, or that he graduated last in the genius class.

Before I could stick my finger down my throat, he explained that “cookies” are computer storage units, and that if I disposed of all 900 of them, it would help my problem. “Okay,” I said, “But can you promise me that I won’t lose the password on my website?” His freckles danced when he smiled and assured me, “That won’t happen.”

With a tap of his finger, my “cookies” flew into cyberspace---along with my password. “That’s it,” he said. But before he could leave, I grabbed him by the throat and he agreed to help me restore my password. I said, “You’re not going anywhere until I check all of the rest of them.” His red hair started to turn white. No more problems, and the not so cheery genius was happy to see me leave the store.

After this harrowing experience, I decided to reward myself for lunch at a nearby restaurant. Two waiters held the door open against the wind. I was ushered to a booth, and my waiter, “Cole,” took my order and said he would bring me a glass of water. As I waited for the water, I played a mind game to remember his name. I thought, “Nat King Cole, and who in the heck was “Cole Train?” Still no water on my table.

Covered with dust, had I turned invisible? I saw Cole, that merry old soul, running around far away on the other side of the restaurant. All my arm waving didn’t matter. Obviously, he couldn’t see me. I now knew that I was invisible.

A waitress named “Felicia”---or was it “Flicker?” At this point I didn’t care, put a glass of water on the next table, but I think no one was sitting there---unless he was invisible too---so I took the water and drank it. I asked the next person who walked past my table, “Can you please bring me my lunch?” She said, “I’m a customer, but I will try to get your waiter.” Obviously, the wind had died down, because the nice lady could see me. Eventually, Flicker put someone’s lunch on my table and filled my glass of water, but she didn’t say anything, so I suspect the dust had settled around me one more time. It wasn’t my lunch, but I ate it.

As you might suspect, I am still sitting in my booth, at the restaurant, waiting for my cup of coffee. No one can see me. 

Do you suppose I can disappear before paying the check?

Esther Blumenfeld (“The Shadow Knows!”) 

Games People Play

My friend, Fay has a neighbor who is taking Tennis lessons. After the first lesson, she called Fay and said, “ We practiced our forehand swings and our backhand swings, and I did great!” The next day, Fay saw her in the grocery store and asked, “So, how did your Tennis lesson go today?” “Not so good,” said her neighbor. “They introduced the ball.”

I took Tennis as an elective physical education course in college. My fiancé had been on a Tennis team and suggested we play a match. After ten minutes on the court, he asked me, “”What grade did you get in Tennis?” “An A” I proudly replied. “Well,” he said, “it must have been for attendance.” I married him, but we never played Tennis again. However, once I did beat him in Miniature Golf. We never played that game again either.

I once went to dinner with friends who play Golf.  They spoke a foreign language that involved pars and tees and a Mulligan. I thought a Mulligan was a stew invented by hobos.

Pickle ball, a racket sport that combines elements of Badminton, Tennis and Ping-Pong was invented in 1965, and is one of the fastest growing sports in North America. It is recommended for people who enjoy racket sports and pickles.

For people who prefer in-door games to exercise their minds, the Chinese introduced Mahjong. The game is played with a set of beautifully colored tiles based on Chinese characters and symbols.

My Mother played Mahjong, and as a child I enjoyed building towers with her tiles. While a game was underway in our home, my favorite activity was sneaking into the bedroom and trying on the players’ hats and coats. I especially enjoyed parading around in a fox stole that still had the fox’s head attached.

As you might have guessed, I don’t play card games either. I like the snacks people serve when playing Bridge, and I know it is one of the world’s most popular card games. Bridge involves dealing, bidding, playing the cards and scoring, but it also involves card shuffling at which I simply do not excel.

When my in-laws lived in Florida, I observed normal old people turn into blood sucking, rip-out-your-throat monsters while playing Contract Bridge. Four players play the game in two competing partnerships---North and South play against East and West.

My friend Angie is an excellent Bridge player, and went on a “Caribbean Bridge Cruise.” When she got to the table she said, “Hi, I’m Angie,” A woman already seated, scowled at her, and said, “I’m North!” At that point Angie was ready to “jump overboard.”

Chutes and Ladders is a board game for very young children. My son, Josh loved it when he was three-years old. I know that the CIA could make anyone confess anything by making him play Chutes and Ladders more than once. The only board game I ever enjoyed was Scrabble until my Father wouldn’t allow me to make up words.

When it comes to games, I am not a total WUSS! I do love playing Trivia. I especially enjoy joining Trivia teams on cruise ships.  The quiz game involves remembering arcane bits of knowledge, and nostalgic remembrances of pop culture.

On February 5, 1965, Ed Goodgold and Dan Carlinsky wrote an article in the Columbia University Daily Spectator. In the article they asked, “Who played the old Gypsy woman in The Wolfman?” (Answer: “Maria Ouspenskaya”). And the rest is history. The largest current Trivia contest is held in Stevens Point Wisconsin at the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point’s college radio station. I’ve never joined one of the 400 teams that participate, but if they ask, ”Which state is the largest consumer of Jell-O?” I am ready!

Esther Blumenfeld (answer----“California”) 

Dreams

Yesterday, I treated myself to a pedicure. Sitting in the chair next to me was a charming 12-year-old girl who asked me if I had attended the rodeo that was in town. Turns out that she and her girlfriend had ridden horses in the parade, and her mother was now treating them both to a day of pretty hands and feet.

After chatting a bit, I asked her what career she wanted to pursue when she grew up, and she said, “I want to be a magician. I’m already really good at card tricks, and now I’m working on my patter (the funny things magicians say to distract an audience).

I wanted to ask her if she could make one of my irritating neighbors disappear, but thought better of it, since she hadn’t told me that she wanted to be a mob boss when she grew up. More’s the pity!

When I was her age, I wanted to be a singer of popular songs, so my mother entered me in a contest sponsored by a local radio station. My grandfather, the concert pianist, prepared me for the event by teaching me to sing the operatic aria, “Sempre libera” from La Traviata. Violetta wasn’t willing to give it all up for love, and all I wanted to sing was, “In My Sweet Little Alice Blue Gown.” But, I couldn’t argue with my determined grandfather, because my German was limited, and he played the piano extra loud when I tried to protest.

So, I bombed on the radio at a very early age. I was “Sempre liberating” while other kids were playing songs on their combs and singing songs such as “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree With Anyone Else But Me.”

Although I felt totally humiliated, it was all worth it, because I had never seen my strict grandfather smile before. I want to believe it was a smile and not a grimace. That ended my aspirations to become a lounge singer.

I hope that my little magician’s dreams come true, and if she adds a disappearing act to her repertoire, I will be sure to buy my nasty neighbor a front row ticket to the show.

Esther Blumenfeld (Who made me the grown-up?)

Nature Abhors A Vacuum

When I look into my closet and see that some of the clothes are now featured in vintage shops, I know it’s time for spring-cleaning. Oh, but it’s so difficult to discard such old friends.

Spring-cleaning can be traced to the ancient Jewish practice of thoroughly cleaning the home in preparation for the feast of Passover, which commemorates the Jews hasty departure from Egypt following their captivity.

The Persian New Year, “Norouz” falls on the first day of spring and Iranians still practice “khooneh tekouni” which translates into “shaking the house” where everything is thoroughly cleaned.

Scotland’s cleaning is December 31^st, on “Hogmanay,” a practice also found in Ireland and New Zealand. In Greece, it is traditional to clean the house before Great Lent, which is called “Clean Week.”  And in North America and Northern Europe, March is always a good time for spring-cleaning, because doors can be left open and high winds can blow dust out of the air. I tried that on a windy day in Arizona, and a cloud of dust blew in, and decided to stay.

Chicagoan, Ives W. McGaffey invented the first vacuum cleaner in 1868. It was called the “Whirlwind,” but the person using it had to manually turn a crank while pushing it around the floor.

Roseanne Barr said, “I’m not going to vacuum until Sears makes one you can ride on.” But, there’s so much more to spring-cleaning than vacuuming the rugs. It involves delving into places you didn’t even know existed in your home.

My Uncle decided to clean out the crawl space in his basement. His four teenaged sons had used that space as a dumping spot for broken sports equipment, pizza boxes, aluminum cans, old shoes and other disgusting disposables. He took one look at the pile of junk, closed the trap door and decided that his kids had found a creative way to add insulation to the house.

When cleaning out cupboards, I usually find something that I have to ask myself, “What is this?” and “Why did I keep it?” I have a friend who says, “Don’t throw it away. It might be a collectors item.”

This year when I cleaned out my freezer, I found frozen sauce in a plastic bag. I still don’t know if it was meant for meat or for ice cream.  I hadn’t labeled it, so maybe it came with the house.

 A sure rule of house cleaning is; “When washing windows, the spot is always on the other side of the glass.” And, it’s always a good idea to check the date on   swollen canned goods.

Cleaning out office files is most difficult. I’m fairly organized, and claim that I know where everything is---whether I do or not. I know that important stuff should be kept, but then invariably everything is important.

Being condemned to spring-cleaning is much like the Greek Gods condemning Sisyphus to eternally roll a rock uphill. Every time poor Sisyphus got to the top of the mountain, he had to watch that heavy stone roll all the way back down again.

Joan Rivers has it all figured out. Rivers said, “I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes and six months later you have to start all over again.”

A friend told me, “Spring-cleaning won’t kill you!” But, if it does, I won’t have a chance to tell her she was wrong. So, if I put it off long enough, spring will be over. There’s always next year.

Esther Blumenfeld (“My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance”) Erma Bombeck