GOOD NIGHT--SWEET DREAMS

Sigmund Freud in,“Interpretation of Dreams,” wrote that dreams are “disguised fulfillments of repressed wishes,” and his theory contributed to the rise of dream interpretation. Scientists do know that just about everyone dreams every time they sleep, whether they remember it or not, but the bottom line is that while there are many theories, there has been no single consensus on why we dream.

According to Kendra Cherry in “Verywell Mind,” researchers have found that the nine most common dreams involve: 1. Dreams about falling, 2. Dreams about being naked in public,
3. Dreams about being chased, 4. Dreams about losing teeth, 5. Dreams about dying,
6. Dreams about taking a test, 7. Dreams about infidelity, 8. Dreams about flying, 9.Dreams about pregnancy (not necessarily in that order.)  There are lots of dream interpretation books, but some modern theories suggest that dreams may have a biological component such as sleep position.  

All I know is that I rarely remember my dreams, but when I do they don’t seem to fit into any category. For instance, I have an artist friend who has beautiful dreams in color. When I was a deadline writer, she would describe these beautiful panoramic dreams, while all I remembered was dreaming words in black and white going through my brain on a stock market ticker tape.  All night, words were passing through my mind, and NO! I never recalled any of them.

However, this morning, I woke up and my dream was so vivid that I remembered all of it, and maybe I have discovered a new category for analysis. What do you think?  Here it is:

I’m backstage waiting to give a speech. The audience are getting settled into their seats. I begin to  pull my speech notes out of my briefcase, and find that my notes are out of order as I pull out various Bloody Mary drink recipes,  which are interspersed with my notes and blank plastic sheets. I proceed to put my speech into order while throwing Bloody Mary recipes and plastic sheets onto the floor.

In the meantime, a woman, in charge of the event, goes to the microphone on the stage, but there is no sound. She calls out to the sound technician to fix the problem, and he shouts out that he is a member of the union, and is allowed a break. Finally, she threatens him with her umbrella, and he goes to the stage and fixes the mic.

The audience is grumbling. I go to the stage, and they give me a smattering of applause.  I begin my talk by giving them a recipe for making Bloody Marys.  THEN I WOKE UP.

I don’t know why I had this dream. I don’t know why I so vividly remember it. I wasn’t falling. I wasn’t naked, No one was chasing me, I had all of my teeth, I certainly wasn’t dying or taking a test, and I was neither flying  nor pregnant.  I wasn’t even upset during the dream or after I woke up—-and I slept like a log.

And, to top it off—I don’t even have a repressed wish to drink a Bloody Mary. Oh, Sigmund, where are you when I need you?

Esther Blumenfeld

DOLLARS FOR DIGITS

It takes our brains 80 milliseconds to process information. That means we are all living a little bit in the past---probably some of us more than others. So, before my brain turns to mush, I decided to learn something about “Bitcoin,” the digital currency introduced in 2009 by a developer whom nobody knows, because he goes under the pseudonym, ”Satoshi Nakamoto.”

Bitcoin is a peer to peer, math-based digital currency, or for those of you purists, “cryptocurrency.” Peer-to-peer means nerd-to-nerd. These digital coins go person to person via the Internet---an electronic made-up cash system on a computer server.  It allows people to buy all kinds of bad stuff, because it promises anonymity. In 2013 the FBI closed down a server called, ”Silk Road” which specialized in illegal drugs. Stay with me, it gets better. Even my spell-check never heard of bitcoins.

However, since transaction fees are lower than the 2 or 3% imposed by credit card processors, bitcoins are increasingly used as payment for legitimate services or products. Sometimes called, “Blockchain,” a public transaction ledger keeps track of who owns bitcoins, how many transactions are out there, and prevents double spending. People who use their computers to maintain the blockchain are called, “Miners,” but we don’t know who they are. My spell check never heard of blockchain either.

If by now, you want to trade in bitcoin, you will need a virtual wallet---where else would you store invisible tender? Wallets come in apps for mobile devices and computers, hardware devices and paper coins. Paper! Now, that I get! To trade bitcoins you do it on a public key, but a private key address will keep your bitcoins safe---unless your secret code gets out. Then your bitcoins can be cyber-stolen.

Here are some reasons I won’t buy bitcoins:

I’m not a nerd.

I like my greenbacks and transactions to be backed by the U.S. Government, because we have a very big military, with very big guns, that will back up my very hard earned dollars.

I don’t hoard canned goods, or speculate on how many times my neighbor’s dogs will poop on my sidewalk. Why would I hoard bitcoins on the speculation that they will go up in value? Yes, they have, and they have also tanked. There have been large swings in value. One such value collapse happened when people panicked, sold their invisible bitcoins, and froze a trade engine.

Countries with troubled national currencies such as Argentina and Iran have used bitcoins. The People’s Bank of China has recently ordered their banks not to use them as “legal tender.” They can’t breathe without coughing in China, but they know about coughing up money.

There are only 12 million bitcoins, and I think there is a programmed limit to how many will be created. Don’t know who programmed that, because everyone seems to be called by the name, “Anonymous.”

So now you know as much as I do about bitcoin. To sum it up:

Unknown, unaccountable, anonymous people wrote a computer code for imaginary, untraceable currency that exists in cyberspace and Dodos are investing real money in it.

Esther Blumenfeld (“It’s gold for nerds.”) Stephen Colbert

FOR THE LOVE OF BOOKS

When my parents moved from their home in Indiana to Florida, I asked my Father, “Dad is it hard for you to move to a new place?” He said, “Not as long as I have my books.  My books are my portable homeland.”  I am, admittedly, the proud daughter of a bibliophile, and my love of books runs deep.

When I was a very little girl, my Father read stories to me from Bulfinch’s Mythology. I found the Gods and Goddesses from Greek and Roman mythology more challenging than the happy-ending tales of the Brother’s Grimm. Even to this day, I think of Pandora opening the box left in her care—releasing all the evils into the world—except HOPE. The tale still speaks to me as does the flight of Icarus, who flew with wings made of wax and feathers. He was warned not to fly too close to the sun, but in defiance of limited tactics he flew too close. The wings melted and he fell to his death. Today, we are trying to harness the sun’s energy, but still do not dare to venture too close. And, then, there was poor Sisyphus, the hero of the absurd, who rolled his rock up a high hill. As soon as he neared the top, the rock rolled down again, and he was doomed to begin again—a message that absolute knowledge is impossible—even with our smart and getting  smarter computers.

I know that lots of people like book tablets, but I still prefer books made of paper. I like the tactile sense of touching a book and turning the pages. The advantage is that there is no glare, and your book won’t be stolen if left on the beach, and “real” books never die because they don’t need batteries.

Among my many strange quirks, I will add that I am not fond of Book Clubs. It’s not that I don’t like the club members, it’s that I don’t want them to choose my reading material, nor, in all respect, do I want to know what they think of the book.  If I like it..I like it!  If I don’t like it..I don’t like it!  And, often some members primarily read wine.

I also hesitate to lend books to anyone, because “everything comes to him that waits, except loaned books.” My husband, Warren cherished his copy of the script of the movie “Casablanca.” His best friend, George coveted that book. Consequently, after a visit from George “Casablanca” went missing. When we visited George and his wife in Princeton, NJ, Warren would surreptitiously “borrow” his book back. Happily, we visited back and forth often, so the book was well traveled.

When I was a toddler in Germany, the Nazis burned prayer books and other books they didn’t like. Today, in 2023, banning books has become a popular past time in libraries—even books authored by Pulitzer Prize, and Noble Prize winning authors. The only good thing from this activity is that you can be assured that the sales of a book will go up if a teenager is forbidden to read it.

My son, Josh became a bibliophile at a very early age. If I ever wanted to buy him a children’s book stamped with a  Newberry Award medal, he’d say, “Mommy, I don’t want that one. I want books with facts!” To this day, you’d definitely want him on your Trivia Team. I learned not to futz around with fiction with this kid. When he was three years old I read him the story of Babar and he learned that the King of the Elephants died eating a bad mushroom. Being a “fact” guy he refused to eat mushrooms. Then, a week later, when we went to a fancy party, and the filet-mignons had big mushrooms on top, he ran around the room yelling “Poison! Poison!” which didn’t sit well with the host and hostess. However, when he was an actor in New York, he did play fictional characters on the stage. That was as fictional as he ever got.

Later in life, when I wrote my books, I never claimed that they had any redeeming quality except fun and laughs. However, I did know they were a success because librarians all over the country complained that people stole my books out the their libraries.  My claim to fame came when a woman, who stood in line at one of my book signings told me not to add a comment. She  said,  “Just sign your name.  It will be worth more when you are dead.” I have a friend who kept my books in her guest bathroom. She complained,”People sit in there laughing and won’t come out!” That’s when my brother, David gave me the moniker, “The Queen of Toilet Literature.”

As I end this love story, remember what Groucho Marx said, “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”

Esther Blumenfeld

BEST OF FRIENDS

This morning when I opened my newspaper two headlines captured my interest: “HAPPY HOLIDAYS!” and, “HATE SPEECH IS THRIVING!” With this news, obviously the world of bigotry and conspiracy theories offer  good will toward none. How’s that for sucking the magic out of the Season?

Haters can’t be very happy people, because they are so judgmental and their associations are so limited. It is a given that their friends are carbon images of themselves, and hatred is as contagious as the plague. With so much negativity how can there be a healthy path to friendship?

For me, there is nothing more valuable than having an assortment of  friends, and accepting people, and their differences, just the way they are. I have found that if you live and let live, and don’t expect too much, you can collect an assortment of friends who illuminate your path in life in a most positive way. If you have a couple of true friends, you can count yourself lucky, but that doesn’t mean you can’t also surround yourself with other people who add something positive to your life. That’s a form of friendship too.

I have a friend with whom, it seems on the surface, that I have little in common. Someone once asked me, “How can you be friends with her? You don’t play golf or bridge, and you don’t belong to a country club?” I said, “You are right, we don’t share any of those things, but when we do get together we have fun!”

Sometimes, a friendship will suffer a natural demise. For instance, when you are thrown together for a common purpose such as elementary school PTA. Eventually, the kids grow up and apart, and the parents are no longer car-pooling or baking cookies. Sometimes, it’s natural to let go.

When I was a little girl, I was playing outside with my best friend, Leigh Ann, and for some reason she became angry and  bit me on the arm. That’s when I learned who my friend really was. I also learned not to discard people— but to put them gently aside— unless you want to get repeatedly bitten.

As the years pass, it is wise to stay in touch with friends of long standing, because you don’t know how much longer that will be. So how can you tell if someone is a real friend? Elbert Hubbard said it best, “A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.”

Consequently, if you are wrapped up in the spirit of seasonal magic, put away your message board and platforms and pick up a real phone and call a friend.  There is no substitute for a voice to voice connection. If you want a friend..be a friend!  Tell that person how much you appreciate having him or her in your life, because as Woodrow Wilson said, “Friendship is the only cement that will ever hold the world together.

Esther Blumenfeld

OUT OF THE BLUE

On a very rainy day, two weeks ago, a friend and I were seated on a Hacienda at the Canyon Community Bus ready to be taken to a symphony concert. A driving, heavy rain began as we pulled out of the parking lot.  A man  sitting in the row next to us looked at his lap, and then glanced up at the ceiling. The roof was dripping water!  He decided that 30 more minutes of overhead leakage was too much, because now his wife was also getting wet. So, he opened his voluminous golf umbrella. Suddenly, I felt water on my face and noticed that a leak had also sprung above my head, so I too, opened my umbrella. Now, there were two of us, holding open umbrellas, inside the bus.  I’m not sure how that looked to people in passing cars, but I’m sure they were no more surprised than we were.

Life is filled with the unexpected, but it’s not the surprise that matters, it’s how you react to it.

Years ago, cruise ships provided the services of clergy to their passengers—a minister, a priest and a rabbi. When my Dad retired, he and my Mom were invited to join the clergy on a 3-month cruise around the world.  As the days passed, my parents befriended the young priest.  One evening, there was a dance aboard ship, and the priest danced with a few of the older ladies. A busybody criticized him for doing so. Her criticism arrived like a bolt out the blue, and naturally the young priest was upset.  He came to my Dad for solace.  Dad said to him, “When dancing with those old ladies, did you have impure thoughts?”  The young priest laughed and said, “Absolutely not!”  “Then,” said Dad, you can tell your Superior that you received special dispensation from your Rabbi!”

When my husband, Warren, was in graduate school at Purdue University, we became friends with a couple from New York. They lived in a place that had been converted from a dental office into an apartment. One day, they came home from classes and discovered a man sitting in their living room.  He was reading a paper,—“Statistical Analysis of Marketing Data.” He looked up and said, “Will the Dentist be here soon?” Astonished, our friend’s wife said, “This is not a dental office.  It is our apartment and you are sitting in our living room!” “Oh,” he replied, as he put on his coat, but before he left he added, “You should consider getting better reading material.”

Surprises followed us everywhere. When we moved to Chicago, my husband’s friends suggested a fraternity reunion at Indiana University combined with a basketball weekend. I had not attended Indiana University nor been a member of a fraternity, but thought it sounded like fun. So, we two couples, crammed into a car with a third couple, and drove to Bloomington, Indiana—not a short haul from Chicago. When we arrived at the hotel, Warren asked the desk clerk if the other 10 couples had arrived. The desk clerk said, “What other 10 couples?” Oops! the unforeseen had happened. “Did you send the invitations?” “No, I thought you were sending them.” We had driven all that way to reunion with each other.

A surprise is like a cat in a bag, once you pull it out, you can’t stuff it back in. When we moved to Tucson, Arizona from Atlanta, Georgia we were warned by old-timers, “You will find out that Tucson is a place everyone wants to visit. Be wary of surprise visits!” The first year, we happily invited and entertained many good friends from far and wide. It was lots of fun, but one day I received a phone call from a woman in Atlanta that I didn’t really know very well.  Excitedly, she said, “I just want to let you know that next week we are coming to Tucson.” Now I knew—but what to do? I thought quickly and then said, “What a lovely surprise, and where are you staying?” Never heard from her again.

A young couple we knew received a generous wedding gift from her parents. They had bought them a house! The couple was thrilled until they discovered the surprise. Her parents had an extra set of keys—to get in—anytime! The marriage didn’t last. I don’t know who got the house.

As much as we might want to, it is impossible to script every moment of our lives. There’s always an unforeseen event around the corner. Sometimes that’s a good thing—other times not so much, but if we don’t go with the flow, we just might drown.  Life can be puzzling, and things happen when least expected.

For instance, I am convinced that some people in Texas were astonished when they opened their newspaper and saw a photo of Ted Cruz, the man they had voted for to be Senator. I am sure that some people scratched their heads and said, “He sure doesn’t look like the Cruise guy I voted for. He was so good in, “Top Gun Maverick.”  SURPRISE!

Esther Blumenfeld