Dream On

Many years ago, when I graduated from the University of Michigan, I was informed that I had an over-abundance of credits in philosophy, psychology and English. Because of University policy, I could only claim two of those areas of study as “minors”. I can’t remember which two I selected. However, I do remember immersing myself in the works of Sigmund Freud, and discovering early on that the good doctor had provided himself escape hatches to some of his theories involving dreams.

I remember clearly that he wrote, “All dreams are wish fulfillment, attempts of the unconscious to resolve a conflict of some sort---something recent or from the past.” Then he covered his butt by discussing dreams that “do not appear to be wish fulfillment.” Whew!

When I worked full-time as a deadline writer, my friend Nancy, who was an artist used to call me and describe her dreams. They appeared to her in vivid colors, and then she would translate them to canvas. I kept my mouth shut during these glowing descriptions, because my dreams consisted of words running across a piece of paper, and they were in black and white. All night long, I dreamed words and more words. I never knew if the occasional “cha-ching” was the paper moving through my dream machine, or my husband’s snoring. A few times, I woke up and scribbled something on a piece of paper in the dark, but it never made any sense in the morning since I couldn’t read what I had written.

One of the most famous dream stories is the one about Jacob, who put a stone under his head, fell asleep and dreamed of angels running up and down a golden ladder. If I had put a stone under my head, I’m sure I wouldn’t have such a dazzling dream, but rather I would have awakened with a headache and a very stiff neck.

In his early works, Freud would have found a sexual connotation to Jacob’s dream, but in his Interpretation of Dreams (Fifth edition, 1919, Chapter 6, Section E) Freud said that he never claimed that all dreams require sexual interpretation. At some point he even said, “Even a cigar may be just a cigar.” Rest easy, Jacob!

So, why all of this talk about dreams? It’s because for the first time in my life, I had a colorful geometric dream, and this is a big deal for someone who almost flunked geometry. I dreamed of a solid, golden sculpture made of squares, triangles and rectangles---gleaming in the distant sunlight. I woke up feeling good.

My first impulse was to call my broker to advise him to invest in gold bricks, but I thought better of that. Don’t know why I dreamed it, or why I remember it, but I suspect that my dream was more Tiffany than Freud.

Nightmares are a different kind of dream. When my nephew was a very little boy, he had a bad dream about monsters in his closet. I told him that I would stuff them into my suitcase and take them home with me. Now that he is an avant-garde artist in New York, I guess I should ask him if he wants them back.

Actors have nightmares about forgetting their lines on stage. With some plays, that might not be such a bad thing. I often have nightmares about my computer, and I’m not even asleep. The best dreams are those that when you wake up and have to think, “Did that really happen?”

Joseph, a prisoner in Pharaoh’s hoosegow had the best political dream. He dreamed about 7 fat cows that were eaten by 7 lean cows, and 7 fat ears of grain eaten by 7 lean ones. Joseph got out of prison when he predicted that a famine was coming. Pharaoh put enough grain aside to save his people and Joseph became something like Vice President of Egypt.

And, I learned that grain has ears.

Esther Blumenfeld (Sleep tight, but first check the mattress for bedbugs)

Open Up

I have trouble opening things. I’m sure it is genetic. My father had butter fingers, and whenever he tried to unscrew, untie, or unwrap anything he’d eventually resort to some creative under-the-breath muttering.

Recently, I hosted a party and tried to uncork a bottle of champagne. Finally, I turned the task over to a strong man, who immediately popped that cork. A cautionary note: Do not loosen a cork for anyone else.  It makes you look really stupid.

Manufacturers have developed all kinds of creative ways to challenge whomever is dumb enough to buy their products. “Push down and twist clockwise” is almost as much fun as, “Squeeze hard and twist counter-clockwise.”  I usually push down when I’m supposed to squeeze hard before pulling the hammer out of my tool chest.

There are several creative ways to open a jar:

A blunt edged knife should release air from under the lid. Accompanied by a box of Band-Aids, this can work.

Hot water run over the lid might do the trick---with a little Unguentine on the side.

Banging the lid of a jar of kosher pickles on the garage floor might work, but be sure to have a broom, a pail of water and a mop nearby.

You can try putting on rubber gloves when wrestling with a stubborn jar top. It will give new meaning to “twist and shout!”

Then there are the plastic packages that contain, batteries, dental floss, toothbrushes, razors and all kinds of products that you need, but can’t get to by simply opening the package. When a scissor fails me I sometimes resort to a razor bladed knife and a box of already opened Band-aids.

Receiving a package in the mail can be a delightful surprise until you try to open it. Usually I have been struggling for ten minutes before I see the instructions, “Open other side.” Then there are the cardboard boxes that contain foodstuffs. They instruct to “Pull up the sides and tear here.” When my eyes fill with water, I understand the “tearing” part.

Plastic screw caps on soft drink bottles cause much consternation. If you can’t get the cap to move, you might not want to ask a stranger to open your bottle, because who knows what he’s been doing with those hands.

So here are my final thoughts on the subject:

If you are stranded on a desert island, do not send a note in a bottle out to sea, because whoever finds it, won’t be able to remove the cork.

If you visit a scientist, and on his desk there’s a brain preserved in a jar---leave the jar closed.

If you have a hankering for hard liquor, take a drive to the Smoky Tennessee Mountains, because a jar of Moonshine opens itself.

Alice in Wonderland found an already opened bottle with a sign that read, “Drink Me.” It was not marked “Poison” so she drank the ingredients. Unfortunately, it made her really short. So, beware of already opened bottles. Eat cake. It will make you taller.

Esther Blumenfeld (I’ve never met a man who can’t open a beer bottle.)

Hide The Sword When You Say, "Sumimasen"

A friend called and told me, “I feel guilty.” “What do you feel guilty about?” I asked. “I feel guilty, because when I receive all of those stickers from charities, I keep them and don’t send donations.” 

“First of all,” I replied, “you don’t have to pay for something you didn’t order.” But, if you really feel guilty, just put the stickers into the enclosed envelopes and send them back to where they came from.” “I don’t feel that guilty!” she said.

A sheet of stickers sent by a charity costs nine-cents, but research has shown that by sending these “gifts,” donations go way up.

The Japanese word for “Thank you” is “Sumimasen” which means, “This will not end.” When I open my mailbox, I know they are right. It’s all about reciprocity. In its purest sense, reciprocity means, “rewarding a kind action,” but since many people interpret it as an obligation to return a favor, others have found ways to take advantage of the guilt.

A social scientist sent out 600 Holiday Greeting cards to a randomly selected group of strangers. He received 200 responses. Some of the cards even included those printed Holiday letters telling him all about families he had never met. I guess these folks figured, “What the heck, it’s better to send a card, than feel guilty about someone we don’t remember.”

Another experiment showed that if waiters include mints on the check tray, their tips increase, and if a waiter adds extra mints---along with a smile to let that customer know he is special---the tip is even bigger.

Reciprocity becomes uncomfortable when instead of rewarding a kind action; it is converted into an obligation to return a favor. Like Yogi Berra said, “Always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t go to yours.” And of course, reciprocity can take an ugly twist when returning a “favor” turns into tit for tat. Reciprocity in friendship is certainly different from mutual dislike---just ask the descendents of the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s.

The author, Alice Thomas Ellis was skeptical of mutual exchange altogether. She said, “There is no reciprocity. Men love women, women love children, children love hamsters.”

When my son, Josh was in first grade, a little boy came to our house to play. When he left, one of Josh’s toys was missing. “What do you suppose happened to the toy?” I asked Josh, who nonchalantly replied, “Johnny put it into his pocket.” I called Johnny’s mother, told her the story, and said, “I’m sure Johnny forgot he has it.” “Impossible,” was her reply. “I’ll be right over,” I said. After a short search, we found Josh’s toy. I said to Johnny, “If you want to keep Josh’s toy, you need to give him one of yours.” “I don’t want to” was Johnny’s response---so much for reciprocity. His mother took the toy and told me they were moving to Alabama. I went home and counted the silverware.

Esther Blumenfeld (scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours---OW!)

"Lions,Tigers and Bears---Oh, My!"

My friend, Ruth is a docent at the zoo. She arranged for a knowledgeable guide to take her friends on a behind-the-scenes tour where we could get close and personal with a few of the featured wild beasts.

Before we began, Chelsea, an Education Coordinator, gave us instructions such as; “Line up with your backs against the wall when we enter the tiger’s space, and don’t stick your fingers into the cage.” “Finger licking good” became the operative phrase. She then, unlocked several padlocked gates, and told us that she would enter first. I guessed that if she didn’t return, our tour would be over. However, she came back and we followed her into the tiger’s space.

Taking one look at this huge kitty, I began to hug the wall. The tiger glanced at us, stood up, ambled around her cage and began to mark her territory with urine. One little growl from this huge cat was enough for me. She could have all the peeing space she needed.

Next, we entered an area that featured an old black bear, which suffered from glaucoma. Our guide told us that the bear receives eye drops when he sticks his snout out of the cage and into a honey pot. Chelsea also added that periodically a dentist cleans the bear’s teeth. Taking one look at his long, sharp claws, I said, “I assume the bear is sedated,” whereupon my friend, Jeannette whispered, “I assume they sedate the dentist.” Since all is fair in love and comedy, and wishing I had said that, I stole her line and got a big laugh. Jeannette called me, “Uncle Miltie” for the rest of the tour.

After our adventure with the bear, we were taken to the zoo kitchen where we were shown some frozen treats that Chelsea dug out of the freezer. First, she showed us a green Popsicle on a very long stick. It was made out of leaves---a treat for the giraffes. Next, she brought out a blood Popsicle in a round container with a frozen rat in the center. She told us that animal experts think up these treats---not only for the animals’ pleasure--- but to challenge their intellect.

The red Pops were lion cuisine, and we were told that the King of the Pride enjoys getting Popsicle blood all over his mane.  I’ve seen kids doing the same with chocolate ice cream, but if Mom found a rat in the dish, there’d be a lot of screaming and an attorney involved (who knows all about rats and going for blood.)

The final treat was the most ingenious. Some mad scientist had invented a coconut with a frozen rat sticking out one end and a mouse out of the other. When Chelsea held up the coconut, I could see that the critters had been scared stiff. Their noses were pointed North and South or maybe it was East and West. I’m not sure because she kept turning around.

Before our tour ended we were taken to visit an enormous hippopotamus, who was much more interested in her breakfast than whatever treat our guide had for her. We were told that because of her bad eyesight, she had run into a wall and some of her horn had broken off, but it was growing back.

Hippo horns are like our fingernails, but bigger, sharper and in really bad need of a manicure. When the hippopotamus finally came to the fence, several people petted her raising a dust storm. I suspected if our hippo had shaken off all of that mud and dust she probably would have been no bigger than a Chihuahua.

At the end of the tour, we were given carrots to feed to the giraffes. Those, who had listened to the instructions, knew not to feed a giraffe like you feed a horse (with the food in the palm of your hand), but rather to hold the carrots out to the giraffes with the tips of your fingers. Those who had been chatty babies didn’t hear the instructions and ended up with giraffe slime-drool in the palm of their hands. Sometimes a simple “Thank You,” would suffice.

Esther Blumenfeld (“The best thing about animals is that they don’t talk much”) Thornton Wilder.

Clean Up Your Act

Recently, I called my cousin who lives in Seattle to wish her a “Happy Holiday.” “Can’t talk now,” was her response. The kids are coming and I’ve just started cleaning the house.” When are they supposed to arrive?” I asked. “Any minute,” she replied. “Housekeeping is just not my thing!”

I told her that Joan Rivers is her soul mate because she said, “I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes, and six months later---you have to do it all over again.” Before I disconnected the phone, I suggested to my cousin, “Don’t make the house so neat that the kids won’t know where they are.”

I don’t hate housework, but my mind wanders when I am doing chores, and I forget what I’ve already done. For instance, when I put fresh sheets on my bed, I was thinking about the American Constitution.

After washing the sheets, I opened the dryer compartment and noticed black scuffmarks all over the inside drum. There were two possibilities for that phenomenon---either I had trapped a small South Korean rapper doing the Gangnam Macarena in there---or I had dried a pair of slippers with rubber soles. There was no little rapper jumping around in my dryer, so I cursed the shoes as I cleaned the appliance.  Then I discovered that the washing machine had swallowed the bottom sheet from my king sized bed. I called a friend to complain that a sheet was hiding somewhere in my house. She suggested that perhaps I had failed to remove it when I put the fresh sheet on the bed. She was right. It was all Thomas Jefferson’s fault!

Not wanting to be a total nincompoop, I turned on my handy-dandy MacBook (after all it is a “Pro”) and Goggled, “House Cleaning Tips From Heloise.” She was no help at all!

First tip: “Want to clean your refrigerator fast? Unplug it.” Unless someone named, Heloise comes over and helps me move the refrigerator, it’s going to remain plugged in. I think it would have been more helpful had she suggested, “Throw out anything that smells bad and has started growing on its own.”

The next hint was to clean the toaster by removing the crumb tray. It is so much easier to turn it upside down and shake. She probably should have said, “Do not try to remove stuck-on-stuff with a knife while the toaster is still plugged in---unless you want a new hair-do.”

I did like the suggestion about the dishwasher. “Get paper towels to remove shards of glass, bones and other gunk.” My mind began to wonder about people who put bones into their dishwashers. Do you think that’s the way scientists wash  their fossils?

The last suggestion made some sense. ”To conquer kitchen clutter, throw stuff out.” I think that includes husbands and children who want to snack on the party tray before guests arrive.

I quit reading her advice when it came to, “Tackle the toilet.” No way am I going to tackle that thing without a helmet.

Esther Blumenfeld (can a vegan use a feather duster?)