Unreachable Truth

My friend Jean says, “life is ridiculous!” Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would have advised her to “abandon the search for truth; settle for a good fantasy.” I have always thought that reality and fantasy are two sides of the same coin.

When my son, Josh was four-years-old, he wanted to fly. He convinced himself that if he flapped his arms fast enough he could soar above the clouds. I told him to keep trying, but the rule was that he had to keep his feet on terra firma, and was not allowed to go onto the garage roof. After several attempts, gravity finally won out, and he stopped the arm flapping. However, when he grew up, he earned his pilot’s license and realized his dream.

JM Barrie was right. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” The writers of science fiction entertain us with their imaginations. Past fantasies such as rocket ships flying to the moon and other planets have become reality, although we have yet to encounter little green men. Why are they always green? Transplanting organs, co-existing with robots and having a conversation with your wristwatch---all come from the imaginations of science fiction writers.

Fairy tales gave us fantasies such as beautiful faces forever frozen in youth. Now the poison Botox does it for us. In a fairy tale, a princess can kiss a frog and get a prince. In reality some women kiss a prince and end up with a frog. In real life, I don’t believe in witches who fly around on brooms, but I do have a wicked neighbor whom I studiously avoid when she is sweeping her walk.

When my brother, David was eleven-years-old, we attended a family celebration at the home of our grandparents. Our grandfather was having such a good time that he quaffed several glasses of wine, and my little brother enjoyed drinking the left-over ambrosia from other guests cups. Suddenly, my grandmother discovered her tipsy husband and grandson, and banished them both outside to take a long walk around the block. Grandpa protested that it wasn’t the wine that had affected them, but that old Mrs. Finkelstein had given them the “evil eye.”

Sometimes you just don’t like someone else’s reality. That’s why Pablo Picasso rationalized that “everything you can imagine is real.” After all, weren’t those angular, many-faceted forms and planes the essence of women?

There has to be a healthy balance between reality and fantasy. A magician knows the difference. If he really sawed a woman in half, he’d have a one-act very messy career, and a very memorable lawsuit.  Albert Einstein said it best; “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Reality leaves a lot to the imagination”) John Lennon

The Intense Zone

There they were---sitting up high on a platform above us. Comfortably, separated from hoards of disgruntled voters, and protected by a 12-year-old officer of the law, there sat our elected County Board of Supervisors.

A stalwart neighbor, and I, had battled street construction and the 105-degree heat to attend this meeting downtown, because developers were presenting a rezoning issue that affected our neighborhood. We were there to witness government in action, and plead with our supervisors not to change the zoning.

At 9 a.m., with a bang of the gavel, those attending were admonished that if we behaved in an unbecoming manner we would forthwith be ejected from the hall. With that declaration, the young, skinny officer puffed out his chest and tried to look tough. Next, a woman minister gave an invocation that excluded several religions, and after the pledge of allegiance to the flag the meeting (with 30 items on the agenda and 35 items on the addendum) began.

It started with a 15-minute presentation from Pause for Paws. An officer from the Animal Care Center entered with a dog wearing a neck scarf, who was up for adoption (the dog not the officer) at a cut-rate fee of $10.00. No one bit---not even the dog. The next 10 minutes were devoted to a proclamation honoring the 50^th anniversary of a defunct missile site, and then a proclamation honoring The Junior Roller Derby took another 10 minutes. All this activity must have tired the supervisors because suddenly they stood up and left the room.

I asked someone, “Where are they going?” and she replied, “They are going into Executive Session so an attorney can explain to them what is going on.” “Why couldn’t they have done that before the meeting,” I asked. None of the 100 citizens in the audience seemed to have an answer, but no one was having a good time---including the officer of the law, who kept looking at his Mickey Mouse watch. Thirty minutes later, the supervisors returned, and we were told that 3 items from the addendum had been withdrawn. Good!  It was now 10 a.m. and only 62 items were left. Luckily, our neighborhood issue was 3^rd on the list.

Those of us who wanted to speak were allowed 3 minutes each. I wanted to shout, “The dog got 15 minutes and I get three?” but the officer of the law looked like his feet hurt so I didn’t. Along with representatives from other neighborhoods, we presented eloquent 3-minute presentations, but when the developer mentioned increased tax revenues the supervisors perked up, their eyes glistened and they, “behaving in an unbecoming manner” immediately voted against us.

It was now time for lunch. I hope they enjoyed their meal, because I suspect that my neighbors will remind them that $10 dogs don’t vote.

Esther Blumenfeld (“It is hard to fail, but it is even worse never to have tried to succeed”) Teddy Roosevelt

Too Much Information

While I was shopping for groceries, a little old lady zoomed around the corner riding her scooter like a bat out of Hell. She gazed up at the shelves filled with boxes of cereal, pointed at me and said, “You’re tall. Will you please get me a box of Fruit Loops from the top shelf?”

I’ve been called all kinds of things, but in my whole life, at 5’2”---I have never been accused of being “tall.” When I handed her a box of cereal, she smiled, thanked me and said, “I’m 93-years-old. At my age a person shrinks, but my nose and ears keep growing.” “Thanks for telling me that.” I replied. “Now I know what I have to look forward to.”  TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

I know it’s the Information Age, but total strangers often share way more details than most people ever want to know. My 90-year-old friend, Jack lives with his dear wife in a senior residence. He enjoys riding the bus around town, because he says, “I can go wherever I want and I meet such interesting people.”

One day a young woman sat next to him, and he noticed a colorful tattoo on her arm. He remarked, “That tattoo is quite a work of art.” She replied, “Oh, if you like this one, you should see the one on my back,” and promptly raised her blouse to show him. Then she told him she was a stripper, and graciously invited him to come sometime to see her performance. He politely declined. TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

Periodically, I go to a swimming pool to do aerobic exercises. While I was splashing and kicking and huffing and puffing a veritable stranger decided to share the personal details of her life with me. It gave me pause. Do I look like a priest in my bathing suit?

Several years ago while on a cruise, the passengers were entertained by true confessions told us by a 25-year-old manicurist who was on her honeymoon. She and her 88-year-old groom had eloped, and were planning to surprise his kids with the news after their honeymoon. She told anyone within earshot that she was very disappointed that he didn’t have as much money as he has told her he had.“I thought only rich people could afford the whole package,” she moaned. I assume she meant fingers and toes. The last time I saw the honeymoon couple aboard ship, she was taking him scuba diving.

Mark Twain said, “The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop.” However that was before facebook and twitter. Now young people tell all they know and then some.

So, I’m going to jump on the bandwagon and tell you more than you want to know about Victoria’s Secret. The lingerie stores are named after the prudish Queen Victoria, who took the throne in 1837 and went into seclusion for 25 years. The secret is that she supposedly liked to wear sexy lingerie. TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Freedom is the right to tell people what they do not want to hear”) George Orwell

The Difference Between Night and Day

I love the morning air, unless I am in rush hour traffic. Morning is my favorite time of day. However, in the summer, I wish it would arrive a few hours later.

Being a morning person is a great advantage when living in the Arizona dry desert climate, because if it’s 75 degrees at 5:00 a.m., it will be 30 degrees hotter at noon. So that’s why I try to beat the sunrise and walk my two miles in the mountains very early. At 6:00 a.m. I know I am awake, because my bed is made and I’m not in it.

Ellen Goodman said, “Most people do not consider dawn to be an attractive experience---unless they are still up.” She must have been a night person. My friend, and former co-author, Lynne is a night person. She does her most creative work long after mid-night. Whenever we would have an early morning business meeting, she would accuse me of being “perky.” She hated perky. What can you expect from a person who keeps the same hours as owls, crickets, frogs and wolves?

The only time I could fake being a night person was when I visited my son in New York City. The three-hour time difference traveling east made me look good. At 2:00 a.m. his friends would say, “It’s amazing that your mom can party so late.” He never told them that it took me a week to recuperate when the hours were reversed after returning home. The only good thing about being a night person is that if you go to bed at 4:00 a.m., you only have to brush your teeth once.

Yes, in the summer I get going extremely early, and by 3:00 p.m. I have already been up for 10 hours. Then it is well–advised to take a nap. Even the hyperactive Martha Stewart catnaps now and then, but she says that she thinks while napping, so not to waste any time. Sometimes when I am baking, I think I also catnap, because I forget there’s a cake in the oven---but then I am no Martha Stewart.

I credit my napping ability to my Kindergarten teacher, because on my report card she wrote, “Esther is a bad rester.” She probably needed a nap. In those days, I didn’t enjoy that activity, so I scooted my nap rug next to my little boyfriend and bothered him. If it’s any consolation, I took her admonition to heart, a couple of years ago. However, I do take credit for encouraging her poetic skills---limited as they were.

So the moral of this tale is that if you are a day person you can take a nap, but if you are a night person, you can’t take a nap because people will think you are going to sleep.

Esther Blumenfeld (“A day without sunshine is like; you know, night.”) Steve Martin

Severe Clear

When I was a teenager, I frustrated my mother. Sometimes, in desperation, she would admonish, “Why can’t you be more like Elaine? She’s nice to her mother.” Elaine was the “perfect daughter.” She was tall and beautiful, gentle as a gazelle, soft spoken and her clothes were never wrinkled. I was short and clean, but thought fashion dictated rolled up blue jeans and a white shirt commandeered from my father’s closet.

I was always nice to my mother, but she was raised in Europe, and tried in vain to impose her sensibilities on an American brat. It didn’t work. I was no gazelle. I remember, as a little girl laughing while my mother chased me around the dining room table, with a slipper in her hand, shouting, “Act like a lady!” Irony was not her strong suit.

No one is perfect, and people who look for perfection will always be disappointed. Even the Liberty Bell has a crack in it. I figure that being imperfect is a great skill to develop, because it makes other people feel so much better about themselves.

Perfectionists are difficult to deal with on the job, because people make mistakes. The adage, “It’s not brain surgery” is a good one, unless, of course, you are a brain surgeon. It’s also good to realize that just because someone is perfectly enthusiastic doesn’t mean he’s perfectly competent, but he’s giving it the old college try (whatever that means). Elbert Hubbard said, “To escape criticism—do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.”

In pilot talk, “Severe Clear” means the way ahead is clear of foul weather, the air is smooth and visibility is unlimited, but life isn’t like that, and perfectionists who can’t adjust find the way ahead much bumpier than the rest of us do.

People are really only perfect after they die, because no one wants to say anything bad about them. Wilt Chamberlain found the whole subject of perfection very confusing. He said, “They say that nobody is perfect. Then they tell you practice makes perfect. I wish they’d make up their minds.”

I admired my friend, Elaine and always wished I could be more like her, but as hard as I tried, I never grew another five inches.

Steven Wright was correct when he said, “If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.”

Esther Blumenfeld (I tortured three piano teachers before they found out it was imperfect me.)