THE DISEMBODIED VOICE AND I

“Do you mind if I put you on hold?” “Yes, I do.”  “You are on hold. Do you want music when you are on hold?” “No.” “We have classical, jazz, country, and elevator music or you can hang on with no music.”  “No music!” PAUSE—more—-PAUSE. “Is anyone there?” Dial tone is there.

“Sorry your call cannot be connected as dialed.  You need the three-digit area code to complete your call. If you do not know the area code, call someone else whose area code you do know.”

“Hello, Grandma!” “I’m not your Grandma, and I’m not sending you any money. Stay in jail”

“Please send money to the police.  If you want to defund the police, please send money to the fire department. If you don’t  mind  giving anyone your social security number over the phone, please send money to Joe, the plumber in case of brain stoppage.”

“Yikes! Your car warranty has run out.” “I don’t have a car.” “Doesn’t matter. For only $30 you can purchase a warranty for your walker.”

“This number is no longer listed. Dial again if you want to hear this message.”

“Your appointment with the doctor has been cancelled. He will see you in six months. If this is an emergency dial 911. If 911 doesn’t answer call us back.”

“Your number has been blocked.” If this is in error, call this number again.”

“HELLO!  HELLO!” Am I still on hold?” Dial tone.

“Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Use your forefinger to punch the numbers.  Do not use your middle finger!”

“Hang up and dial again—or not. We really do not care.” However, if you call back, do you mind being on hold?”

Esther Blumenfeld (call me sometime)

A TOUCH OF HUMOR

“Wagner’s music isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

Tell me what you laugh at and I’ll tell you who you are.

If you think that sticking a green bean up your nose is hilarious, you are and eight-year old boy.

If you say, “The first time I sang in a church choir; two-hundred people changed their religion,”… you are Fred Allen.

So, what’s funny? Some people like jokes. My personal preference is wit. For instance one day, I told my son, Josh that I had gone to the theatre and people were required to wear masks and show evidence of vaccination. I said, “I think that theatre-goers are smart and probably want the best for those around them.” Whereupon he replied, “Mom, remember John Wilkes Booth.”

Steven Wright, one of my favorite humorists, makes incongruity an art when he says, “If at first you don’t succeed, then skydiving definitely isn’t for you,” and I have to remember his advice that; “Experience is something you don’t get until just after you need it.” I also have to to be careful with my sense of humor—not that I would intentionally offend— but sometimes I can startle someone who doesn’t see the world in the upside manner that I do. For instance, I recently had dinner with a woman new to my senior residence. Our conversation involved food, and I happened to say, “I am allergic to strawberries.” She replied, “ What happens if you eat one?” I replied, “My teeth itch.” Shocked, she said, “Really?” Whoosh! there it went —never to be heard again.  As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I dream of a better tomorrow where chickens can cross the road and not be questioned about their motives.”

It is well researched that laughter helps people cope with stressful situations. For instance,
“When you go to court you are putting your fate into the hands of twelve people who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury duty.” (Norm Crosby) I have never liked using laughter to hurt people, and anyway, it often backfires. There was a comedian in Atlanta who was invited to entertain a group of women at a charity fund raiser. He began his spiel with mother-in-law jokes. He bombed so badly they could have dropped him over Hiroshima.

Sarcasm can be funny but one really needs a delicate touch to generate laughter while tweaking the subject— not using a sledge hammer. Winston Churchill was a master of the art when he said, “The best argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with the average voter,”and the back handed compliment,  “We can always count on the Americans to do the right thing after they have exhausted all the other possibilities.”

Small children and adults with arrested development enjoy toilet humor. I prefer word play that challenges the gray matter in the brain. For me, that makes life fun (even when it’s not) Someone once asked Steven Wright “If you were stranded on a desert island what book would you bring? He said, “How To Build A Boat.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“If you tell a joke in the forest, but nobody laughs, was it a joke?”)

SCARY STORIES FOR HALLOWEEN

There are  people in life who march to the beat of a different drummer, and then there are those who don’t have a drum. These folks are just plain odd. Here, then, are some true tales of scary folks who have stumbled across my path. I have changed the names to protect the clueless among us.

When I was in high school, one of my friend’s father was an undertaker, and the family lived above the mortuary. My friend, Lily was a shy girl, but nevertheless a friend. However, for me, it was always a challenge to visit her in her home. Her father was a peculiar man who never smiled and rarely talked and seemed to appear when least expected. I always had the feeling that he wanted to take out a ruler and measure me for a wooden box.  Lily’s mother was a cheerful lady who hummed patriotic songs like, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and spent lots of time “downstairs.” I wasn’t sure what she did down there, but the last time I ever went to Lily’s house was when her mother came upstairs with a kit, and asked us if we wanted a make-up lesson. I politely declined and found my running legs.

Later in life, I met three uniquely weird women—all wives of my husband’s three different bosses. These women rated high on the “extremely bonkers” chart. Minnie, the strange one, never talked. She was not clinically mute, she just chose never to speak. Consequently, when we were thrown together, I had to assume that she was an incredibly good listener, so I commenced to ask and then answer my own questions. Of course, I carried on scintillating conversations with myself. To this day, the skill has come in handy. After awhile I didn’t mind that she didn’t join in on the conversation other than an occasional smile.  One day, her husband told me that Minnie really enjoyed my company. I guess that was because I never disagreed with myself.

Then when we moved to a different city, my husband’s new boss invited us to his house for afternoon tea. When we arrived, his wife Belinda was nowhere to be seen. When we sat down, the kitchen door was flung open, and a woman (whom I assumed was Belinda) arrived with a silver tea service, on a silver platter which held three cups and a plate of cookies. Without a “Howdy,” she slammed the tray on the coffee table and shouted, “ I will be sewing in the kitchen,” and then she left. As we awkwardly balanced tea cups on our laps and munched on cookies, I could hear some pithy swear words coming from the kitchen. After an uncomfortable hour, we said our goodbyes. No, I did not enter the kitchen to thank our hostess since sewing involves some extremely sharp scissors. I always assumed that Belinda was not in the mood for company, and happily I never saw her again.

I don’t think that my husband’s job descriptions included, “put up with the insanity of your bosses wife,” but sadly it happened one more time with Clarissa. Clarissa was a fashionable, intelligent well-spoken woman who invited us their home for dinner. When we arrived, we noticed three cats running back and forth across the dining room table. They were feasting on the remains of what looked like lunch. At that sight, I began to miss Belinda. I didn’t offer to help clear the table, because those were three really, really big cats.

My husband’s new boss, oblivious to the situation offered me a martini. I think I stopped at two. After Clarissa cleared and re-set the table, she invited us to come in for dinner. I don’t think she served Kibbles and Bits because that’s for dogs. One of the cats was walking across the piano keys and the other two were somewhere under the table. The next day, out of the blue, I received a call from Clarissa who just wanted to “chat.” She proceeded to chat and chat and chat and then said, “I like you. Now we are friends.”

The strange friendship ended abruptly the next day when we received a call that Clarissa had killed herself,“after tidying up her house.” I don’t think it was caused by anything I said, but am glad we never got around to doing the “pinky pal” thing.  Immediately, we drove to pay a condolence call, but no one was home. Turns out that my husband’s boss and his two sons had gone to a movie. I don’t know what happened to the cats.

Recently, I met a woman who I am convinced is in the witness protection program, because she is not forthcoming about any information about herself. However, she did let it slip that years ago she had to take her 90-year-old mother’s shotgun away from her, because she was too old to hunt for moose.

Some people can be more of a trick than a treat, but with a little toil you can avoid a heap of trouble which is a good thing to remember at Halloween.

Esther Blumenfeld (BOO!)

IT WENT THAT-A-WAY

Whoosh! There’s another day. Where did it go? Then a week—then some more—and suddenly it’s time for another haircut. Yes, I measure my weeks by haircuts. Some days are great, some, not so much, but I am already 15 minutes older than when I began this article.

Some people say, “Age is just a number.” That’s true, but in my case it’s a big one. Then some people tell me, “You don’t look 85.”  I’d rather have them say, “You don’t act 85.” However, I’m not sure how I am supposed to look or act, but then, I never was good at doing the expected.

I recently read that researchers are finally going to study healthy seniors, taking into account that an occasional hip or knee replacement, or running around with a walker does not mean that a person isn’t generally healthy. Consequently, if those smart researchers asked me, I would suggest that they throw away the categories. There’s “young old,” “old,” “old, old” and even older than dirt. Common! It seems as if until now researchers have concentrated their studies on those categories, but they forget that being old is not a disease, and that all old people are not diseased.

Now, those smart folks are beginning to study the many elderly who are on a healthier track. From what I have read they are discovering that healthy aging involves more than the
old standard advice: “Eat better.” “Sleep better.” and “Exercise.” A case in point: My father never exercised, and his sleep was interrupted by nocturnal trips to the loo. Granted, he rarely drank more than an occasional glass of wine and did not smoke, but he did enjoy his meat and potatoes, and had a sweet tooth that matched his sweet and good humored disposition.

When he was 85 years old, he called me and said, “Something terrible happened to me.”  I said, “What happened?” He replied, “I forgot someone’s name.”  As a scholar he was invited to speak to many groups, but when his vision faded, he memorized his lectures and kept right on teaching. One day, after tutoring a student in the morning, he had a stroke in the afternoon and died a day later at 95. I considered him a “young old,” and he was not the only one.

No two people are the same, and old folks should not be pigeonholed. Granted, some people are either physically or mentally challenged, but every old person I know (and I  know lots of them) has a fascinating backstory. It’s a given that no one has led a charmed life, but it is still indeed a life worth living.

I have a great deal of respect for my fellow travelers on this old age journey. Old age is not contagious, but it is a path we all have to traverse. It is better to pack some fortitude, courage and lots of good humor, as well as gratitude, in that bag of tricks, and I predict that those researchers will discover that healthy oldsters have an attitude that warms the cockles of the heart.

Making the most of everyday is the secret, and if you are lucky there will be time for another haircut.

Esther Blumenfeld

EGO BUBBLE

Giving a talk in front of a bunch of strangers is one thing. Giving a talk in front of a large group of people you know is something else. If you flop with strangers you can always rationalize, “I’m never going to see those people again.” However, when I was invited to give a talk at my new Senior Residence I knew that not only would I see those people again, I’d run into them walking down the hall, getting my mail and at dinner in the dining rooms.  Now that is pressure! If I flopped, I’d have to wear a mask over my entire face.

It was going to be a big crowd in an unfamiliar venue. No one had ever given a speech in the newly built Ranch House. When the doors opened the people kept coming, and I knew it was going to be a full house. The topic of my talk was, “What’s So Funny?” If no one laughed I’d have to change the title to, “What’s Absolutely Not Funny At All?”

Before I began, the microphone  was hung around my neck and switched on. I was relieved that at least if I talked loud enough no one would be able to fall asleep. I then asked the audience to turn off their cell phones. That was like telling a toddler that his security blanket would have to go into the washing machine. I told the audience that if their cell phones went off during my talk that it would probably be their grandson calling from prison asking for more money. That went pretty well because no one threw a rotten tomato. As the talk progressed the laughter grew louder, and I prayed that no one would swallow their mask. People are so litigious.

When I was finished everyone applauded  A LOT!  Was it because they had enjoyed the speech, or were they glad it was finally over and they could go home for a nap? Then the question period began. I made up many answers, but was thrown for a loop when someone asked, “Who’s your favorite author?” I should have seen that one coming, but did not. The only author I could remember under pressure was Frances Hodgson Burnett who wrote the children’s book, THE SECRET GARDEN. That was pretty lame.  I should have said—“MOSES!” His writing was succinct, and in 10 simple bossy sentences his self-help tablet book was a huge success— and he became famous. Luckily, he only had to rewrite them once.

After the speech a group of rowdy friends surprised me with a celebratory dinner with wine and flowers and smiley faced cupcakes and candy corn—a tribute to my corny humor. Of course “All’s well that ends well” until someone says:

“That was really funny.  I didn’t know that you did anything.”

“I couldn’t make your speech. Can you do it again?”

I didn’t come because I didn’t know if you’d be funny.”

“How was it?”

“Where was it?”

“I had mohs surgery. Do you want to see the scar?”  AND—-

“I’m looking forward to attending your speech tomorrow.”

That’s the story folks, and I’m sticking to it. No ego trip here!

Esther  Blumenfeld