MAD AS HELL

Yesterday, I had an experience that is all too common as well as all too aggravating. It began with a notice on my e-mail that my monthly premium for my Cigna Dental Insurance had not been paid, but “if that is in error, ignore the e-mail.” My monthly premiums are automatically taken out of my checking account. So, I called the insurance company to see if there was a problem. Anyway, I tried to call the insurance company.  

After dialing the number, I was unceremoniously put on hold with a barrage of elevator music. I set my phone to “Speaker” and began to read the newspaper. Sports and the Comics didn’t take too long. I advanced to the Front Page. After finishing the Front Page section, the music on the speaker phone paused. My hopes arose. The music began again. So, I progressed to the National News. Twenty minutes had passed. As I picked up the Local News section, a loud voice on my phone said, “Dear Customer, this survey will only take a few minutes of your time. Please rate your answers from ONE to TEN. TEN being the highest.” That was all I needed to hear.

Then it began: “How satisfied are you with your experience?”  Answer:  “ONE!”
“Was your experience satisfactory?” “ONE!”
“Was the agent helpful?” “ONE!”  

As  the questions continued the answers were ‘ONE—ONE—ONE.”
Finally, “Would you recommend this company to your friends?”  Answer, “What do you think?”

“Tell us why:” “Because I had a simple question and no one picked up the frigging phone before hitting me with this lame brained survey.” I hung up!   Later, after cooling off, I called the number again, and heard a message. “If you received an e-mail that your bill has not been paid, it was sent in error. Please disregard.” (and stop grinding your teeth).  I made up that part.

It is very hard sometimes not to get angry.  I will spare you the four hours I spent with 5 different departments, 4 disconnections and 5 different “service people” on the phone with AOL—with  no real problem resolution.  I also answered their survey with improved profanity.
Even though I get frustrated and sometimes angry, I rarely lose my temper. That takes a lot of control.

When I was three-years-old my family escaped the Nazis and we made our home in Springfield, Missouri. Four years later, we moved to Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  I liked my new school and my new friends, and was a very happy little girl.  Every afternoon after school, I’d walk home by myself—even on snowy days. Now that I was 8-years-old, I was pretty independent.

One afternoon, I heard a sound behind me.I turned around and saw a big boy from my school. I didn’t know him, but I figured he was a new kid who lived at the Army/Air Force Base. He caught up with me and I looked up at him and said,, “Hi!” He stared down at me and said, “I know who you are. You are a dirty German!”

 I looked up at him, balled my fist and shouted, “I am an American Girl!” I closed my eyes, flung up my fist and ,since I was much shorter than he, I hit a Bulls Eye right on his nose.  I had never seen so much blood in my whole life!  I ran home crying and as I entered the house shouted, “I think I killed someone.” After my Father calmed me down, I told him the whole sad story. He was shocked and said, “Esther, you were in a fist fight?” “No,” I replied. It was no fight. He cried, bled and ran away.” Then my Father calmed me down and said, “Don’t worry the nose bleeds a lot when hit.” I doubt you killed him since he ran away, but perhaps you should apologize for making him bleed. Think about it.”
I kind of thought about apologizing but didn’t, because I never saw that boy again.  However, I never— ever— hit anyone again. But, I must admit, when I get mad as Hell, I occasionally  do hit my head against a virtual wall.

Esther Blumenfeld
 

THINGS TO LEARN

An article in the September PARADE MAGAZINE was titled, “5 Things I Didn’t Learn Until I Was 50.” The author, Paula Spencer Scott mentioned that by 50 most of us know how to “do laundry and scramble eggs.”  Not necessarily!

After being married for several years, one day I asked my PhD, research professor husband, Warren to put a load of laundry into the washing machine. He carried the clothes out of the room and came back carrying the same load. Then he asked,”Which one’s the washing machine? So much for that assumption!

Scott then wrote that it’s important to learn how to breathe. I always knew that as long as you are breathing it’s a good start for the day. Of course since we all breathe oxygen we have much in common.Yes,  I know that she meant deep breathing—inhaling air down to the belly through the nose. Unfortunately, she didn’t mention exhaling which I think prevents explosions. “Breathe in. Breathe out.” If you forget that, you can skip the meditation part. Even a bottle of wine has to breathe.

Her next advice was to, “Learn how to sit” which involves sitting down and  then getting back up without wobbling. Some people’s idea of exercise is a good, long sit. If you’re going to do that—Do it right! That means using thighs, butt and abdomen to power stability without waving your arms around.  Perhaps, she should have added that sitting and standing up is much easier without drinking more than one martini.

Then she tackled the problem of standing while not looking like a “crooked stick.” She advised putting 60% of your weight on your heels— with the next 40% using the toes—so you won’t fall over backward. Once you have mastered how to stand properly you are ready for a long walk to the refrigerator which is more fun than walking over a bed of hot coals.  

Assuming that you are no longer wobbling, proper walking has its own challenges such as “chest out,” and “shoulders down and back.” Then you should be stepping “heel to toe, heel to toe.” If you a walking “toe to heel, toe to heel” you are not walking—you are dancing—and not very well at that! Swinging your arms is important—“opposite arm to opposite leg. If you use the left arm out with the left leg and the right arm out with the right leg, you might be mistaken for a Zombie.

The last bit of advice that the author gave was an instruction on, “How to Smile.” Obviously, a grimace is not acceptable. I think that if you haven’t learned how to smile until you reach 50, that you have a very bad attitude—or very bad teeth.  Granted, smiling is good for you, but smiling at nothing seems a bit spooky, because what do you say when someone asks, “What are YOU, smiling at?”

 If you walk around with a silly smile on your face, out of context, you just may be asking for a punch in the nose  which just might affect your breathing, standing and walking.  However, if you have good posture you just might land on your seat.  Therefore, I recommend that you might want to wait before moving those mouth muscles into an upward curve until you have something to smile about such as, “I Was Smart Before I Turned 50!”

Esther Blumenfeld

REYKJAVIK--AIRPORT--HOME

We had a good nights sleep. The suitcases were on the van, and we could now relax and learn more about beautiful Reykjavik. The first thing we noticed is that there is no pollution. Iceland has the cleanest and safest water in the world. Their energy source is geothermal, so homes are heated by electricity, and the air is fresh and clean—unless there is a volcanic irruption. I guess that could mess things up a bit. We drove past a warm, outdoor community geothermal swimming pool, and then crossed the Elidaa River, one of the world’s cleanest rivers filled with salmon. None of the salmon were swimming around plastic bags or bumping into beer cans.

We then drove up to a charming house situated on well tended grounds. Our guide said, “ This is our President’s house. We aren’t allowed on the property, but the fellow sitting in that car, at the front entrance, is the President’s security guard and driver. Many of us know the President.” With a relatively small population in Iceland, I am guessing that perhaps more than a few folks are also related to him. Iceland has a Parliamentary Government, and 1946 Iceland became a member of the United Nations. In 1949 it became a charter member of NATO.

It was now time for a stop at the Saga Museum where we learned about the people who settled in Iceland and legends of the past. We also viewed a program featuring erupting volcanos.  Continuing our van journey we drove past several beautiful churches, The National Hospital, The Government House and the Parliament Building. Then we drove past the campus of the University of Iceland, The National Art Museum and the Opera House.

Lunch Time!  We were dropped off at The Viking World Museum to enjoy a repast of delicious Icelandic meat stew served with crusty homemade bread and homemade butter. Eating at tables situated under the hanging, huge replica of a Viking Ship was definitely a new experience.  I hoped that the ship was well anchored and wouldn’t drop on my head before I finished my lunch. Josh went to the second level and boarded the ship, while Barbara and I viewed the Viking exhibit.

It was now time to be dropped off at the airport and say, “Bless” (Goodbye) to Iceland.
Our flight back to the United States was happily uneventful, and Josh and Barbara accompanied me as I was wheeled through U.S. Customs. The Customs Officer asked Josh, “Did you purchase liquor when you were abroad?” Josh said that he had a bottle in his suitcase (the allowed amount).  Then the Customs Officer looked down at me sitting in the wheelchair and asked me the same question.  “No.” I replied.  “I drank it on the plane.”

I spent one day at Josh and Barbara’s home in Fairfax,VA, and the next day was driven to Dulles Airport to begin my journey back to Tucson, AZ —with a transfer in Dallas, Texas.The first leg of the trip went well.  I tipped my wheelchair driver ahead of time and he blessed me all the way to my gate.  When we landed in Dallas, I ordered another wheelchair.  It was an extremely long distance to my gate, so we had to take a train from my arrival gate to the departure gate. On the train I chatted with my driver who was originally from Ethiopia. There was a young man standing near us. As the train stopped to let passengers off, the young man handed me a $20.00 bill as he exited.  For the first time in my life, I was totally speechless.

When we arrived at the gate, we were informed that the flight to Tucson was delayed, because they only had a 3 flight attendant crew, and were waiting for 2 more to arrive on other flights. They were hoping that 2 would volunteer to go with us, or the plane would be cancelled. One hour later, a passenger took out her violin and began to entertain us. Another hour later, the 2 volunteer flight attendants arrived to be greeted with a standing ovation. Shortly, we ascended and then landed in Tucson. My driver was waiting for me. I was home!

All in all, after a two year Covid delay, I was so happy that we finally had been able to take our long anticipated trip to Iceland. After so much planning, and so many delays, and so much worry, it was a joyful eleven days for me to spend the time with Josh and Barbara. We laughed a lot! We ate a-lot!  We learned a-lot!  And, it was definitely a lot of fun.

Esther Blumenfeld

WIND AND SEA

WIND AND SEA

On the final day of our cruise, I awoke, got out of bed and skid across the floor.The ship wasn’t gently rocking. It was rock and rolling! I pulled open the drapes and viewed an extremely wavy sea.

I heard a knock at the door, and opened it for the steward who delivered my breakfast. He put the  tray on the table where it began to slide, but I caught my breakfast before it could hit the floor. The steward bounced off the wall twice as he exited. As I was eating, I heard an announcement from the Captain telling us that because of the high winds and choppy sea, that it would not be safe for us to enter the harbor at Grundarfjordur. Obviously, there would be no tour that day, no drive through little fishing villages, and no “short refreshing walk” on the pebbled beach. Also there would be no viewing of Kirkjufell considered to be one of the most beautiful mountains in Iceland.

What I had been most interested to learn about was the influence of the French in Iceland, since at the turn of the 18th Century, French fishing boats started arriving, and many of the population of 799 people in Grundarfjordur are descendants of those settlers. However, the weather prevented our arrival.

Consequently, it was a good time to start packing and preparing for our trip home. Throwing dirty clothes into a suitcase at the end of a trip is so much easier than choosing what to wear at the outset.

Some of the entertainers aboard ship did their entertaining thing. The male vocalist sang, and chased his mic around the floor when it tried to get away from him. The band played. The drummer turned green, and the audience members that weren’t in their staterooms tossing their cookies enjoyed the show.

Good sailors that we are, we had an early dinner with a view of the restaurant windows being washed by the waves.  Tomorrow we would be required to disembark from the ship at 8 a.m., but our plane back to Washington, D.C. was not scheduled to leave until 4:30 p.m., so we opted for a five-hour tour of Reykjavik to fill the time. That turned out to be an excellent decision!  

Next week:  Reykjavik-Airports-and Home

ISAFJORDUR

Hvernig hefur Ipu bad?  I was “perfectly fine,” Takk fyrir “Thank you,” until  I saw that the first step onto our tour bus was as high as my leg could reach, and we had not been offered a step-stool. So, I put my hiking boot foot high up on that step. Now, I was presented with the problem of getting the other foot up, and then pulling myself into the bus. I held onto the side rails and got my other foot up. Now, my legs were onto the bus entrance, but my arms weren’t strong enough to pull me up. I was stuck! Happily, my son, Josh lifts weights, so he pulled me into the bus, while my dear daughter-in-law, Barbara stood behind and gave me a little push. This time pushing your mother-in-law around was and extremely positive move.

I was prepared to visit the abandoned village of Hesteyri near Isafjordur. I had layered my clothes, wore my Gore-Tex rain-free jacket, had on my hiking boots and carried my trusty hiking stick. Unfortunately, I did not realize that I was going to experience a rough Marine Corps Basic Training course in one of the most remote areas in Iceland.

Our next test was to jump from the bus into a small boat that has come alongside. It was the only way to reach Hesteyri. By now, several fellow passengers took charge of me, and helped me jump onto the side of the little boat and sit down. Vinsamlegast (Please!) tell me that this is it! But, No! Next, we had to leap from the boat into an inflatable Zodiac which would take us to shore, where someone there pulled out a piece of wharf for us to step onto the black sanded beach.

In the distance we saw a very high hill with a few scattered, empty houses that had been abandoned in the 1950s, because the people couldn’t take living there anymore. I noticed that the sky was getting darker. Our trek began as we started to walk uphill on a one-person-at-a-time rocky path.  Josh walked ahead of me, with his arm available to help me navigate the wet path, and Barbara followed me in case I needed a boost.

As we walked higher and higher, periodically we would walk over some small wooden planks so we could avoid sloshing through small streams of water. Since I kept my eyes down concentrating on the path, I didn’t really look up until we reached the Island’s cemetery that boasted a handful of gravesites. Finally, I looked at the marshland that surrounded us, and at the Isles craggy mountainside, which in Norse mythology, was the home for Iceland’s remaining trolls. On one of the mountains there is a big, dark indentation which was rumored to be left by a huge Troll when he plopped down there. It is called, THE TROLL’S THRONE.”

Deciding not to be left at the cemetery, I continued with the others on our walk up the trail to view the beautiful Dynjandi Waterfall. The best part of the view was that we were going to end our 2 1/2 mile hike walking downhill.  It began to rain. We walked to a house where the owner spends his summer welcoming tourists with coffee and homemade pie—and playing his Hammer Dulcimer—an Icelandic instrument where the strings are not plucked but instead are hammered. The Dulcimer looked like a guitar cut in half, but the Icelandic tunes were beautiful.

After 30 minutes, our guide suggested we return to the beach and stand in the rain to wait for our Zodiac.  By now, it was raining a bit harder. So we stood, and stood, and stood  watching two little boys build a black sand castle on the beach. Keeping Icelandic time, the Zodiac finally arrived.

Unfortunately, I didn’t see the town of Isafjordur—population 2,600—where it is rumored that the local folk party away at the local pub on long winter nights, but I now do have the satisfaction of passing the Icelandic tour basic training challenge.

Esther Blumenfeld