Pretty Is As Pretty Does

My eyes always glaze over when visiting my favorite used bookstore. So many books! So little time! Naturally, I wasn’t paying attention as I rounded a corner and almost ran my shopping cart into two young women approaching from the opposite direction. First, I apologized, and then I stared. I had never, in all my years, seen two bodies totally covered from head to toe with colorful tattoos. As far as I could see, there was no skin space left untouched.

I pointed behind me and said, “The tattoo books are that way.” “Thanks,” said one of the young girls. “How did you know that’s what we were looking for?” “I’m psychic,” I replied. “That’s awesome!” said the other girl. She was the one with the tarantula on her exposed cleavage. I walked away wondering how far down that hairy spider would slip as gravity beckoned in coming years.

Obviously, perceptions of beauty differ. Judge Judy got it right when she said, “Beauty fades---dumb is forever.”

My mother was a very beautiful woman. She was the whole package with jet-black hair, a patrician nose, sapphire blue eyes and flawless alabaster skin. As she aged, her hair evolved into a white wavy cloud, but people still commented on her beauty. However, she began to worry about the “laugh lines” around her eyes. A friend told her that dabbing a moistened rectal suppository on those wrinkles would make them disappear. One morning, as he walked into the bathroom, my father discovered this ritual, and commented, “Dear, I think you are putting that stick in the wrong place.”

I don’t know who said that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but he must have qualified it with “Love is blind.” Mother always said, “If you want to be beautiful, you must suffer.” She might have been right, because I understand that a full body wax is like being flailed but not quartered.

In Saul Bellow’s book, Ravelstein, Ravelstein says, “Young women are burdened by glamour maintenance.” A friend of mine in the fashion industry once told me that models that look like twigs are sometimes so hungry that they will eat Kleenex.

I have seen young women, pursuing beauty, with more holes in their heads than they were born with. Nostrils, ears, cheeks, lips and tongues are pierced and studded. The most memorable was a belly button hammered shut with a spike—wide and long enough to hang a slab of beef.

Several years ago, I received a gift of a neck message aboard a cruise liner. Naturally, the masseuse wanted to sell me some of the expensive beauty products aboard ship, so she asked me, “If there is one part of your body you’d like to change, what would that be?” I thought for a few moments and answered, “Honey, I have had these body parts for 60 years. By now, I am pretty used to them. I don’t think I want to change a thing.”  Jean Kerr said it best: “I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That’s deep enough. What do you want---an adorable pancreas?”

Esther Blumenfeld (a smile is the best face lift)  

Winking With Both Eyes Is A Blink

When I was a kid, we used to play, “The Staring Game.” It was cheap entertainment. All that’s involved is sitting eyeball to eyeball with a friend, start staring at each other, and the first one to blink loses the game. The only way I could ever win was to cross my eyes, and make the other kid laugh.

Scientists have discovered that the average person blinks 28,800 times a day. I can’t imagine being asked, “What’s your son’s job?” and answering, “He’s a blink counter.” But, it’s a job, and I guess someone’s got to do it.

New research from Osaka University in Japan discovered that blinking might do more than just lubricate the eyes. In fact, it may serve to “momentarily rest the brain, giving the brain a break to wander and go offline.” According to this research, blinking and the brain at rest are related.

I know that life can change in the blink of an eye, but I also know that all the blinks in the world won’t make a boring conversationalist disappear. I’ve tried it. I blink and they still keep on talking.

One valuable bit of information that the blink counters have discovered is that there is a correlation between lying and blinking. Because deception requires intense concentration, liars blink less while telling a fib, and then speed up afterwards. So, if someone says, “Nice to see you,” and then blinks really fast, you know he doesn’t mean it---or has an eyelash in both eyes.

Winking is kind of like blinking only it’s done with one eye. I once knew a girl who had one blue eye and one brown eye. She was an expert winker, but it was quite disconcerting because one time she’d wink blue and the next time she’d wink brown.

I can wink well with my left eye, but have to scrunch my face to wink with the right one. Maybe it has to do with the part of the brain I use for winking, or maybe it’s because I’m just a klutz.

It’s a proven fact that all mothers have eyes in back of their heads. Those eyes are good at the staring game, but I can promise you that they will never blink.

 Esther Blumenfeld (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Know what I mean? Know what I mean?  (Monty Python)

Handy Dandy

As a little girl, I can remember being frustrated when asking a teacher, “How do I mush this paper to make flowers?” Her answer was, “Do it yourself.” I figured that she probably didn’t know how to properly mush either, and wondered, how could I make the flowers when she wouldn’t explain the process to me.

I don’t believe the saying, ”If you want it done right, you’ve got to do it yourself,” because there is a fine line between being good at everything and being a total idiot. Granted, there are some people who are very handy. However I am not. If I don’t know how to do something, I either ask an expert or hire a trained professional.

My father-in-law thought that anything could be fixed with a tube of glue. He believed that no one would notice a mended crack down the middle of a plate or when the bottom fell out of a china teacup. He rationalized, “The water was too hot.” He ignored me when I suggested that perhaps the teabag was too heavy.

When we purchased our home in Atlanta, the inspector said, “I don’t know who wired this furnace but the green and red wires are crossed, and I have no idea where this black one is supposed to go.” The former do-it-yourself owner had to pay to have his handy work undone.

There are numerous do-it-yourself books on the market. My neighbor, Susie bought Plumbing Made Easy. One morning she called me and asked if she could use my bathroom. “What’s wrong with yours?” I asked. “I took my toilet apart,” she wailed, “and now I can’t put it back together again.” The plumber arrived, shook his head when he examined her dismembered toilet, and charged her twice his normal fee to put it back together again. She returned the book.

When I purchased a new printer for my computer, I jammed the wrong sized ink cartridge into the printer slot and then couldn’t get it out. “How did you do that?” asked my puzzled computer geek, as he fixed the problem. “Didn’t understand the directions. I don’t read Chinese,” was my lame excuse. At that instance, I realized that having faith in yourself has its limitations and can be really disappointing. At my age, I do know that my life is a do-it-yourself project, but I am convinced that asking for a bit of help along the way can’t hurt.

I recognize that some people have the gift of being able to fix things while other simply do not. Some of these virtuosos with tools are the much-coveted handy folks for hire. These people can fix almost anything and have the wisdom to tell you when they can’t. When my husband retired, he often said, “Our handyman, Kenny, is the greatest joy of my life.” I wasn’t jealous. However, to revive the romance in our marriage, I learned to unclog the garbage disposal.

So, here’s my advice:

Don’t try to dip a toothpick in ink and prick out your own tattoo.

Do not try a do-it-yourself colonoscopy, and,

If you’re going to clean your chimney, don’t go down headfirst.

 On the other hand, it’s good to remember, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”

 Esther Blumenfeld (Where’s the hammer? There’s a scorpion in the house.)

Gather What Ye May

People collect all kinds of things. Elizabeth Taylor collected diamonds and husbands. One definition of collections is“The action of collecting someone or something.” She did both.

Another definition is “An amount of material accumulated in one location.” Graham Barker began his naval fluff collection in 1984. I’m not sure where he mined his collection, but by now he should have enough belly button lint to fill a mattress.

Bill collectors don’t collect people named “Bill,” nor do they collect bills. They should be called money collectors, but I guess then people would confuse them with the Internal Revenue Service---a profession that sounds as if they only go after people who swallow their money.

Some collections such as stamp, coin, paintings and baseball cards can become quite valuable. Who knew that a first edition, Superman Comic Book, would bring big bucks---certainly not my husband’s mother---who threw it away. And, who would have guessed that Wolfgang Laib’s collection of pollen (from Hazelnut) piled up in the 18 x 21 ft, atrium of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, would be featured as a work of art? The entry fee does not include a dose of Antihistamine.

Sucrologists collect sugar packets. Inadvertently, they often team up with ant collectors. Some people enjoy collecting seashells. Novices forget that sometimes the shell they have collected is someone’s home. Nothing smells as pungent as the demise of a slimy critter that has crawled out of a conch shell in a collector’s suitcase. However, it’s a good trick to pull on airport security.

Collecting New Year’s resolutions is not a good idea, because there’s no place to keep them. My father collected books. When he was 85-years-old, he and my mother moved into a Senior Residence. I asked him, “Dad, is it difficult for you to move again?” He replied, “No, not as long as I have my books. My books are my portable homeland.” When he died, we donated his collection to various libraries.

However, it was more difficult to dispose of Uncle Bill’s collection of malformed teeth. Uncle Bill was an oral surgeon and was very proud of his tooth collection. Over the years, he had amassed hundreds of extracted teeth, mounted them on black velvet, and displayed them in glass cases in one room of his beautiful home in a suburb of Chicago. When he died, none of his kids wanted to sink their teeth into that collection, so they donated it to the “Collection Terminator.”

Hundreds of years from now, some archeologist, digging around, will ask, “Why did all of those weird toothed people end up at the city dump?”

Esther Blumenfeld (My British friend will “collect” me at noon)

Playtime

Ask any child, “What is your favorite period at school?” and he used to answer, “recess!” For a few years, school districts dismissed recess as a frivolous waste of time, but on December 31, 2012, the Academy of Pediatrics stated that recess should not be withheld from children, because it can “benefit children’s cognitive, academic and social development.” It also contributes to physical fitness. They failed to mention that a recess break keeps teachers from going completely batty.

Some psychiatrists claim that freedom of play helps children develop the skills of adulthood. I recall recess as running around time, hanging upside down on the monkey bars and dodging balls that were thrown my way. It never occurred to me to catch them. Playground bullies also honed their skill pushing littler boys around and throwing earthworms at the girls. I wasn’t especially afraid of earthworms, but screamed and ran away with the other sissies.  I wasn’t a very fast runner, so I kept yelling, “Hey, you guys, wait for me,” and usually ended up with skinned knees and elbows. Maybe that’s why I’m still more of a loner than a group person.

The 113^th Congress opened on January 13^th, 2013, and immediately the Senate went into recess, freezing the Chamber on its first legislative day. They did this so they wouldn’t have to debate. So much for “cognitive, academic and social development.” Right out of the gate, the senators chose not to think, learn or get along with each other.

When the Academy of Pediatricians recommended the benefits of recess, they were talking about little children---not big babies. When grown-ups display this kind of behavior, it is unacceptable, and I recommend that they play nicely with the other slackers or be sent home.

Recent polls reveal that the voters ranked the 112^th Congress as less popular than cockroaches and colonoscopies. Maybe the 113^th should learn that recess shouldn’t be their favorite period. If they don’t want to be expelled, perhaps they should leave the fun of recess to their grandchildren and stick to bathroom breaks.

Esther Blumenfeld (There’s nothing like recess in the rain)