And Whose Little Supposition Are You?

I recently received a postcard with the photo of a baby girl wrapped in a bath towel. The parents had written, “Can’t wait for you to meet our little Daphne. Love, Minnie and Buck.” They had made the assumption that, even though I didn’t know them, I’d send a gift to little Daphne, and that I wouldn’t notice the misspelling of my name. I finally figured out that Minnie and Buck are the progeny of people I haven’t seen in 40 years.

Wethern’s Law states that, “Assumption is the mother of all screw-ups.” I am convinced that not being a mind reader causes most arguments in relationships. “You should have known,” makes the assumption that your partner knows what you are thinking, so there’s no reason to clue him in.

Another common assumption is that when someone is silent, he may not be saying anything because he’s thinking. Few people consider that he may just be stupid. And what about the “dumb blonde” rap? The blonde bombshell, Jane Mansfield had a genius IQ level of 163, spoke 5 languages and was a classically trained pianist and violinist.

We all make assumptions such as; (a) People will be on time for appointments. (b) The refrigerator will be cold when we open the door. (c) The medicine the doctor prescribes will cure us immediately.

My friend, Judy went to the drugstore to pick up a prescription. She said, “I am picking up a prescription for Judy Cook.” The pharmacist said, “There is no such prescription on record.” She replied, “Well, maybe it was made under my husband’s name, Don Cook.” “No such prescription,” said the pharmacist. “I don’t understand,” said Judy. “The veterinarian said she’d call in a prescription for my dog, Xerxes.” “Oh,” replied the pharmacist. “I have a prescription for Xerxes Cook.” I assume that Judy had to pay for the prescription, but then again, maybe Xerxes does have a charge card.

One of the worst assumptions is if a person supposes that documented facts can change another person’s opinion.  After all, we are all experts on our own opinions. Validity is based on fact. Faith validity is based on “I believe this is true, so consequently it is.” I recommend that it is useless to muddle up already befuddled thinking with facts.

Years ago, when my family took a car trip through the South, we ate at a small restaurant in Alabama. As we were leaving, the waitress said, “Y’all come back now. You hear!” Mom turned around and went back. She assumed the waitress had meant for her to “Come back.” “So what do you want?” said Mother. “Nothing,” replied the waitress. “So why did you ask me to come back?” said Mother. “I didn’t.” said the waitress. “Yes, you did,” said my Mother. “Well, Honey, I didn’t mean right now,” said the waitress. “So, why did you want me to come back?” said Mother. “I didn’t,” said the waitress, and she left in a huff.

As with most assumptions, I don’t think my Mother ever understood what that encounter was all about. She did have eyes in back of her head, but she wasn’t a mind reader.

Esther Blumenfeld (I assume my flight will be on time---or not.)

Truth, Beauty And The Yuck Factor

When I was in 4^th grade, the art teacher instructed us to draw a dragon. It didn’t take me a long time to finish the assignment, so I handed it in, took a book out of my desk and proceeded to read until the school bell rang. As I gathered my supplies, the teacher asked me to stay. I stood at her desk. She held up my dragon and said, “This is the worst piece of art I have ever seen.” She was probably right, but I thought it was beautiful.

Art is a value judgment. As a matter of fact, good art is not always aesthetically appealing to viewers. Obviously, mine was neither good nor appealing. However, I wonder what my art teacher would have thought of Tracey Emin’s exhibit, My Bed (1998).  It was the actual messy bed where she slept and engaged in various activities that involved the secretion of body fluids. The bloody and semen soiled bed was exhibited in the Tate Gallery in 1999, won a prize, and was later purchased for a great deal of money. It brought fame and fortune to Emin, but I don’t know if she used the money to buy new sheets. A work of art exists in the mind of the creator, but sometimes it is okay to ask, “What in the world were you thinking?”

I have been privileged to befriend several artists over the years, and recognize that they see the world with unique vision---different from the rest of us. Artists see lights and shadows, color and forms, shapes, textures, line patterns and various materials which, combined with a wide range of ideas and feeling, contributes to the overall meaning of their finished work. I have visited art galleries all over the world, and maybe because I don’t have the gift, I have a keen appreciation of the remarkable talent of truly great artists, whose work can bring tears to my eyes. Sometimes, I enjoy just sitting on a bench admiring an inspired creation.

Recently, a friend invited me to join her to view a special museum exhibit of “Modern Work.”  When I entered the first gallery, I saw some scaffolding with paint cans on top, and asked the attendant, “Are you remodeling this gallery?” “No,” he replied. “That’s a work of art, but you can walk under it.” “Is the hole in the wall and the plaster on the floor part of his exhibit?” I asked. “No,” replied the attendant, “That’s the work of a different artist.” I couldn’t say, “My kindergartener could do better than that,” but I could have said, “ A demolition crew-----!

The next artist gave us 6 framed bottle caps accompanied by 6 matching framed bottle openers. He didn’t paint them. He framed them. I’m not sure his was a quest for knowledge as much as a quenching of thirst, and I got the message that he prefers imported beer. I don’t think that bottle caps and openers will stand the test of time, but then famous works are also often misunderstood.

Martin Kippenberger’s $1.1 million “When it Starts Dripping from the Ceiling” in the Ostwall Museum in Germany was damaged when a cleaning woman scrubbed away a painted rain puddle beneath a rubber trough placed under a stacked tower of wooden slats. Obviously, his work made an impression on her. The final exhibit in my tour of the “Modern Works” was indeed bizarre. Some people say that “Art is in the eye of the beholder,” but not in this case. Five plaster casts of a man’s male organ were placed on five books. I have heard of thumbing your way through the pages, but not in this case.  I don’t know if the artist used his own anatomy for the plaster casts, but if he did, I do know--- he wasn’t Jewish!

Esther Blumenfeld (My dragon wasn’t that bad after all)

The Ultimate "Do Not Call" List

Once a week, I volunteer my time manning the front desk at the office of a worthy organization. My duties include answering phones, handling paperwork and computer data entry. This computer work involves browsing newspaper obituary columns in order to remove names of the deceased, so they won’t receive any more solicitation requests. 

I call this my “Pearly Gates Do Not Call List”. It’s an extreme way to avoid annoying telephone calls, but it does work. Sometimes, when I have a few extra moments, I read some of these obituaries. Newspaper editors used to assign this column to fledgling reporters, but now, unless you are well known, most obituaries are written by family members, and the column is as good as either the writer or the former relationship.

Woody Allen is credited for saying, “Comedy is tragedy plus time,” but sometimes you don’t have to wait that long. When the founder of JUNIORS, a famous restaurant in New York died, the New York Times printed his cheesecake recipe as part of his obit---unusual, but a delicious way to be remembered.

As a cautionary note: Maybe trying to make sense of your life isn’t such a good idea, but be careful who illustrates it for you. Here, then, are some actual quotes from some of the obituary columns that I collected.  Out of respect, and not wanting to be pilloried, I changed the names of the deceased.

  “At 102, Mildred was preceded in death by her parents”.

   “Bert died because he refused to drink water while running a marathon race.”

   “Trixie enjoyed throwing surprise parties and whipping men around the dance floor.”

   “The joys of Bubba’s life were his Pontiac, country western dancing, and flirting.”

  “Al will now meet his Maker with a golf club in his hand.”

   “Our loving Grandmother will be missed by all of her grandchildren, who she called her ‘Little Boogers”’.

  " Rick was on garbage detail at Camp Lejeune, and met his wife after hitting her dog, Buster with his car. Buster is the surviving member of the family.”

 Clarence Darrow said, “I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Pore Jud Is Daid”)

Afternoon Tea

Last week, I thought I had purchased a can of tea from China.  It was sitting on the store shelf with all of the other teas. The can was green with writing that looked Chinese to me.

When I got home, I boiled some water, and after fifteen minutes of steeping the leaves, I poured myself a cup. The tea was colorless, and tasted like extremely weak chicken soup. 

Maybe authentic Chinese tea is supposed to taste like chicken soup. Or, maybe, the long strand of human hair, which was part of the treat, came from the head of a Chinese chicken farmer. Or, maybe it wasn’t Chinese tea after all. Maybe it was tea from Korea. They drink tea in Korea, and I don’t read Korean either.

The choices we make in life can be so difficult. You might ask, “How could you drink a cup of anything that contained a human hair?” I had boiled the water, and didn’t find the hair until it had wrapped itself around my tongue.

No! I did not panic. The water had been boiled. And, No! I did not die from sipping on an oriental hair. Who knows? Maybe Chinese or Koreans use hair in their tea-soup instead of noodles.

However, from now on, I will stick to English Breakfast Tea. Maybe, next time I will find a crumpet.

Esther Blumenfeld (finger sandwiches…if you dare!)

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Webster defines the word “association” as an act of: ”associating, co-operation, fellowship, community, agreement, friendliness, partnership and camaraderie.”Obviously, he never lived in a house that included a homeowner association, or he would have added, “kerfuffle and brouhaha.”

Since 1964, homeowner associations have become a common irritant in the USA. In 2010, the Community Associations Institute estimated that HOAs governed 24.8 million American homes and 62 million residents. Associations provide services, compel homeowners to pay a share of common expenses, regulate activities, levy assessments and may, depending on state legislatures, impose fines. Association boards may appoint corporate officers, or officers may be elected by the membership---and then they have meetings---lot of contentious meetings.

Another survey, conducted by a home improvement trade organization of over 3000 people, discovered that two-thirds of the residents found their HOAs annoying, and 19% were in a declared “war” with their HOA. 54% said they’d rather live next to a “sloppy” neighbor than deal with their HOA. The problem in a nutshell is that neighbors are telling neighbors what they can and cannot do with their property. The only way it might work is if a disinterested management company is hired to do the dirty work, but then the board has to agree that everyone follow the rules.

So who in their right mind would agree to serve on an HOA board of directors? Absolutely no one! However, sometimes, unsuspecting lambs are led to neighborhood slaughter by being convinced they can provide an appreciated service.

A year after moving into my neighborhood, I agreed to serve as secretary on our HOA board with four old codgers who nurtured a long-time grudge against each other. After the first deluge of profanity, I brought a tape recorder to meetings. That helped with the language problem but not the dancing. When someone suggested that all homeowners should pay for their own water, one of the old guys did a Rumpelstiltskin jig screaming they’d have to take him out in a body bag first. He ended up paying for his water but not the baggie. I quit after a cocktail hour call from a woman accusing me of taking away her First Amendment rights. I never did find out what she was yelling about.

So here is the rationale that prompts people to seek this masochistic job:

Everyone should follow the rules to get along.

Everyone should follow the rules except me.

We should have no rules

We should save association money for a rainy day.

It doesn’t rain that much here, so we should spend all the money.

I used to be a school crossing guard, so I want that power again.

We need to hire professionals to fix things.

I am very handy and can fix anything with chewing gum.

I have been sent by a Higher Authority to save this neighborhood.

 I miss kindergarten and enjoy throwing tantrums.

Esther Blumenfeld (hermits have the right idea)