Physician Heel Thyself

On October 5th my friend received a message on her computer from the office of her ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) Doctor.“I am the Doctor’s Virtual Assistant. Your appointment has been cancelled. Can you change that appointment to March 30th, 2022? If so, press ‘Yes.’ If not, press ‘No.’” My friend pressed, “HELL, NO!” I think she should have responded, “Hear No Evil, Smell No Evil, Speak No Evil—-You Virtual Nincompoop!”

I, on the other hand, on September 29th received an e-mail from my Dental Office. It was short and sweet. “Please call the office to reschedule your appointment.” I called immediately. The Phone Robot informed me  that I could not reschedule my appointment, because the office would be closed from October 1st to October 7th to upgrade their equipment in order to “enhance my patient experience.” I felt neither patient nor enhanced.

Admittedly, physicians are very busy people. Consequently, I am usually required to make my follow-up appointments either 6 months or a year in advance. However, after arranging my schedule, and sometimes transportation, it is most annoying to get a call a few days before my appointment that the Eye Doctor won’t be available—like it was my fault and not a joint decision. Then, after making the change, it is most aggravating to get a call which informs me that, “The doctor won’t be in this office on the day of your appointment. Can you hitch the huskies to your sled and come to his far, far away office on the other side of the world?” Of course, my “No, I don’t go there,” will get me another appointment on another day. Two appointments down. I hope I don’t have a third one. I don’t need a charm. I need a check-up.

My recent experience was in the Twilight Zone. My favorite doctor now has two offices and their human schedulers could not seem to coordinate appointments. I was shunted from one scheduler to another and they just couldn’t figure out where I was supposed to go (or when!) I am really not a tough case. All I needed to do was to stick out my arm, bleed for the technician and then have my doctor interpret the gobbledygook  on my report card. I was afraid that if I couldn’t get an appointment with my doctor, I’d have to register as a new patient and then be informed that, “The doctor doesn’t accept new patients.”

Finally, I did get an appointment. “Your appointment with the doctor is at 9:15 a.m. but he will see you at 10:15 a.m. Come 15 minutes early and bring your insurance cards.” I know that the pandemic has taken a toll on all of us including my talented physicians, and I will continue to trust and respect them—as long as they don’t refer me to their new partner—Dr. Google.

Esther Blumenfeld

SWEEET AND SOUR TONGUE

My cookbook MAMA’S COOKING, CELEBRITIES REMEMBER MAMA’S BEST RECIPE (co-authored with Lynne Alpern) was published in 1988. I didn’t care so much about the recipes, because my emphasis was on the funny stories. However, Lynne did test some of the “a pinch of this and a fistful of that” recipes. Cooking was never my favorite sport although occasionally I still enjoy uncomplicated baking.

When I moved into my newly built senior residence two years ago, I was the first occupant in my apartment. Consequently, no one had ever used the brand new oven in my G.E. stove. I generally use the oven to store pots and pans unless I get the urge to bake a cake or some assorted cookies. My stove burners have a glass top and work just fine, but the oven seems to have a mind of its own, so I have had to drastically adjust the baking time other than the recipes suggest. Consequently, a month ago I requested a visit from the G.E. Service Technician.

A burly, heavily tattooed fellow, who yelled like a Marine Drill Sergeant squatted in front of my oven and turned it on. After couple of minutes he barked, “The temperature seems fine.” I think he tested it with his index finger. Then he added, “Maybe you are having trouble because of the altitude. You do know that Tucson is a high city.” At that, I suspected he might be higher than the city and I replied, “I have lived here for 25 years. My former house is right across the street.” Then I added, “However, I do live 3 floors higher than I did. Do you think that could make a difference?” He thought about that for awhile.

Then he said, “Ovens have hot spots. If you bake a cake you need to keep turning the pan so it will brown on all sides.” Then I knew that this Bozo had probably graduated at the bottom of his oven class, because every baker knows that if you keep opening the oven door to turn a cake, some cakes will just give up and deflate. Obviously, he was going to be no help at all.

As the weeks passed, I kept baking, and adjusted the oven temperature or baking time, as best I could. I also gifted some of my dear neighbors with some of my creations. They are all such nice people whom I now know will eat almost anything.

Finally, I purchased an oven thermometer. I took all of the pots and pans out of the oven, and put the thermometer into my oven and set the “Bake” button at 375 degrees. When the stove beeped  informing me that the 375 degree heat had been reached, I put my cake into the oven. Then I looked at the thermometer which registered 325 degrees. Oops! I turned the oven up to 400 degrees and adjusted the baking time by 20 minutes. Miracle of miracles the cake turned out just fine. I think it was okay, because my neighbor asked for the recipe and she assured me that her taste buds are intact.

So, now I have requested a return visit from a G.E. Technician…BUT!  not the same one, because I am sure he would blame the discrepancy on my thermometer.  I wonder if Sylvia PIath had her oven checked by a G.E. Technician. Boy, am I glad mine is electric.

Esther Blumenfeld

MOO MOO POO

My dear mother-in-law used to say, “Live long enough and you will see everything.”
As wise as she was, I’m sure that even she could not have fathomed the potty training of cows.

I have a little 2-year-old friend named Paisley whose Mom tried to toilet train her. Mom showed Paisley the potty and explained the procedure. Paisley listened carefully, ran around the room and peed into her toy chest.

Believe it or not, researchers have now discovered that it may be easier to train a calf to urinate in a special pen than to train a toddler. At a lab in Dummerstorf, Germany animal behavioral scientists mimicked the toilet training of toddlers putting cows in a special pen, waiting until they urinated and then giving them a sweetened drink as a reward. If the cows urinated outside the pen, they got a spritz of cold water. I don’t think Paisley’s Mom squirted her.

It just so happens that cows urinate a lot (“8 gallons a day from one cow”) and according to the EPA this is a serious environmental problem causing 7% of U.S. greenhouse gases. Combined with cow bowel moo-ments that’s not a good thing! Consequently, toilet training animals could make it easier to manage waste products. Who would have thought that the earth might be saved by windmills, solar panels and cow potty pens.

Pigeons used to be trained to carry secret messages behind enemy lines. Surely, a wise pigeon scientist could find a way to train them to poop on the enemy rather than on ledges in New York City.

On the other hand, looking at the sky and seeing the graceful flight of birds does not make most of us think of their bodily functions. I remember drifting in a small boat on a tranquil sea. My husband had chosen not to sit on the open deck but rather under the shady cover. As the first mate threw bread crumbs to the sea gulls, I marveled as they dove down and then up and down again. I remember that one man sitting on the open deck had begun our cruise with black hair. He looked like a very old, white haired man when we docked. Couldn’t all of those plastic bottles in the ocean been put to better use?

I am flushed thinking about the potty training of animals. How hard could it be? After all, think of all of those sheep that play“Follow the Leader.” Cats already have litter boxes. Can’t blame a cat for tainting the water. With dogs you can always scrape off the soles of your shoes. Obviously, there are bottom-less possibilities of containing waste to help save our planet.

But, then there’s the horse. I’ve seen diapers on horses in parades.  I guess you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him poop like a cow. However, isn’t it udder nonsense to think that cows are smarter than people—Or is it?

Esther Blumenfeld

BEING A BETTER PERSON

The Jewish New Year 5782 has arrived. I said to my son; “Josh, we are a very old people.” He replied, “Not all of us, Mom!”

Celebrating the arrival of a New Year is easy considering everything we went through during the last one such as; pandemic, fires, floods and kids running around the house, while parents, handcuffed to computers, were working at home. On the bright side, a New Year can be filled with hope for better days to come.

BUT! a week later, Yom Kippur arrives. It is the day of atonement, when a person is required to take responsibility for his or her actions, and think about all of the crappy things he or she might have done (or said) and ask for forgiveness for being a jerk. That’s not an easy task, especially when you are a perfect person. It is always so much easier to blame other people.

Fasting (no drinking or eating) is also suggested while trying to become a better person. There are exceptions— if you are pregnant or taking medications— or if going without food makes you extremely cranky. I think I made that last one up.

So, here are some of the things one might not only have to think hard about, but also ask for forgiveness:

Have I ever sinned by thinking, saying or doing something bad? Well, that certainly doesn’t leave much wiggle room!

I must admit that recently I have had rather evil thoughts about some politicians, but if I would ask for their forgiveness, they would surely put a price on my apology and ask for a donation.

Among many traits that I abhor is being a liar, and I try to be as truthful as possible. Sometimes that is very difficult, because it calls for a choice that could hurt another person. Consequently, I must confess that sometimes I’ve made the choice to play with the truth. For instance, one afternoon, I attended an extremely painful violin recital of a dear friend’s
10-year-old son. The sounds coming out of that violin would have knocked the angels right off of Jacob’s ladder. I was amazed that the strings withstood the torture.

After the ringing in my ears cleared up, my friend, who had a big smile on her face, said,”So what do you think?” I looked at her, paused and sincerely replied, “You must be very proud of him.”

On another tack, I don’t think I’ve ever abused my power, because I really don’t have any, but I must repent because I did  profane in a colorful manner when I stubbed my toe.

All of my life, I never did disrespect my parents. Can’t say the same about teachers. However, I can rationalize it because my award-winning-professor-husband always said, “ There is no such thing as a bad teacher.  If he is bad, he’s not a teacher!”

 I also don’t think I have dealt treacherously with my neighbor, unless under-baked banana bread counts. Sometimes I am confused. When does information become gossip? I guess repeating something good about someone never hurts.

I do try to forgive people if they hurt me, because looking at the source, I know that usually it’s not intentional, and it’s not worth losing a friendship over carelessness. In other cases I can simply dismiss it as plain stupidity. However, when I was a little girl, I came into the house crying because my friend Leigh Ann had bitten my arm. My Uncle Harry roared, “I’m going to kill her!” He never did, and I never forgave him—but not so much with Leigh Ann.

It is definitely a good thing, at least once a year, to consider becoming a better person. However, since none of us are perfect, invariably we will make mistakes. Consequently, it is equally important in life to forgive ourselves.

Esther Blumenfeld

A JOB IS A JOB

As a child, I don’t think I ever received an allowance unless you count the five cents I got from  my Father, the tooth fairy. Being a 5-year-old entrepreneur, I recognized an opportunity since I had several  loose teeth. My business partner, Teddy who was 8-years-old, offered to pull my remaining loose teeth, so we’d have enough money for ice cream. When I presented my second tooth to my Father, he gave us 10-cents if we promised to end our business venture.

As time went on, any money I received I’d have to earn. When I was 10-years-old, I was hired by my parents for my first baby-sitting job. I’d watch my one-year-old brother who was asleep in his crib, while they went next door to visit our neighbors. Unfortunately, the sleeping baby woke up crying as soon as they left. I figured that he’d stop crying if I picked him up. Unfortunately, I couldn’t reach him since I was short. The side of his crib gate was up, and I didn’t know how to lower it. So, I climbed up and stood on the lower rung of the crib gate, and leaned over to pick him up. Whoops! my knee got stuck in-between the slats. I couldn’t step up or back down. Now, both of us were crying! Finally, I un-wedged my knee, stepped down and called my folks. That was the most painful 10-cents I ever earned.

Other than baby sitting gigs for 15-year-old kids jobs were hard to find, but I finally found work in a store that sold baby clothes. My job was to stock shelves and fold clothes, but never to wait on anyone unless the other clerk was busy. However, I was forbidden to ring up a sale.That was left to the owner of the store. She had a suck-on-a-lemon face with a disposition to match. I earned 75-cents an hour—better than the 35-cents an hour I could earn baby sitting, and surely better than pulling out my teeth. I put up with a lot from the sour owner of the store, but when she handed me a toilet plunger and told me to take care of the over-flowing toilet, I said, “No, Thank You!” and left.

Life got serious when I had to find a good part-time job to help pay for my college tuition—not an easy task living in a small town. However, I was able to line up a 4-year summer stint in men’s pants. Hang On! It wasn’t that exciting. I got an office job at a men’s trouser factory, and earned $3.00 an hour. After the 3rd year, my salary was raised to $3.50. My job was to take the place of office workers when they went on vacation. I discovered that typing on a manual typewriter for 8 hours a day was cruel but not unusual punishment. Every morning I punched in on a clock and my favorite part of the day was punching out.

When the order person went on vacation, I was assigned to stand (not sit) for 8 hours in the cavernous, spooky warehouse and put orders in the right slots—IN or OUT.  The orders  would  then magically be shot up somewhere into outer space. I only worked that job for one day, because somehow some of the IN were shot into OUT.  It was dark in that warehouse.

One day, I arrived at work and there was a big picket line in front of the factory. The angry workers were shouting and waving what looked like scissors and stuff. I was afraid to walk through the picket line, but my tuition was due and I needed that paycheck. Meekly, I asked one of the workers, “Is it okay if I go into the office?” She looked at me and said, “Go ahead, Honey!  No one wants your job!“  Hell!  I didn’t want my job.

In today’s newspaper “Part Time Jobs for College Students” was listed. Here is my take on them.  TUTOR: “Help students improve their understanding of class material”— (and if they just don’t get it, do their homework for them  if you want your)—” $14 to $21 per hour.”

NANNY: “Assist parents with day to day raising of their children,”—-( and don’t get your knee stuck in a crib slat.)— “$11 to $17 per hour.”

DRIVER: “Responsible for getting people (or stuff) from one place to another.”—-(without getting lost)—“$9 to $15 per hour.”

FOOD SERVER: “Work in eateries. Part of the income is based on tips.”—-(So, pretend to be a nice person.)—-“$9 to $13 per hour.”

No matter what job you have—NO JOB IS PERFECT!  But, I can promise you, that if you have never experienced the bumpy road to success you have either inherited the business, or you never sold your teeth.

Esther Blumenfeld