DELIVER ME

I finally have had enough! For the last several months the new newspaper delivery person has decided that the morning paper should be delivered in a different time zone. Her “service” has been so bad that she didn’t even dare to put a tip envelope, with Holiday good wishes, in the December newspaper. I’m sure she didn’t want anyone to know where she lives.

Delivery to my Senior Residence is easy. All this person has to do is to get out of her car and dump the papers into a wheeled cart at the lobby entrance. Years ago, the little boy on his bicycle had a much more difficult time. He had to pedal and throw from house to house. Here the Concierge delivers papers to our apartments.

As a former journalist, I am painfully aware that print newspapers may become a thing of the past, but I also know the value of supporting a local paper.  Yes, I know that I can read the news on my computer (as I do with the Washington Post) but I want to read The Arizona Daily Star with my morning coffee.  Losing subscribers may mean losing local news since the paper is already printed and delivered from Phoenix.  And, NO, it is not the fault of the truck drivers, because the problems only began with the time challenged new “delivery” person.

After getting no response  to my complaints from a phone robot or by computer, I decided to trick the robot in order to get a real person. Consequently, when the robot asked “How many days did you not receive your paper?”  I responded, “600.” At that, the robot paused and said, “I will transfer you to a customer service representative.”

A little night music and and then, “Lo and Behold”, I heard an actual man’s voice thanking me for being a subscriber since 1994. I think that my subscription is older than he is, but he was most sympathetic as I relayed my sad story, and added, “There are at least 50 or more subscribers in the building, and you might not want to lose them.”  When he suggested that I read the paper on my computer I responded, “Old folks like print papers, and I have noticed that my young friends who read their papers on the computer often miss something, because they ask, ‘Where did you read that?’ It’s called skimming. There is still something to the value of print.”

Finally, the young man said, “I have forwarded your complaint and the issue should be resolved.” I asked him, “Where are you located?”  He said, “The Philippines.” I said, “Then you aren’t anywhere near Arizona.” I’m not sure he knows where Arizona is on the map.  Of course, I’m not sure that many Arizonans know where Arizona is on the map.

Finally, I thanked him and said, “If the paper is still delivered late, I will come to the Philippines and get you.” He didn’t seem worried. After a week of no improvement, I now understand why the Arizona Star Newspaper Complaint Department is in the Philippines. However, there is some comfort knowing that my newspaper subscription is a little bit cheaper than a year’s worth of toilet paper.

Esther Blumenfeld

SOME OPTIMISTS CARRY UNBRELLAS

“Both optimists and pessimists contribute to society. The optimist invents the aerorplane, the pessimist the parachute.” George Bernard Shaw

Yesterday, I observed a nurse, who was not only wearing a face mask, but also wore a plastic shield over her face. A friend said to me, “That looks very uncomfortable,” and I replied, “Well, she won’t be stung by a bee.”

So, are you an optimist or a pessimist?  I am an optimist, but I am not cockeyed. For some people the glass is half full. For others the glass is half empty. I am just happy to have a glass. For instance, an optimist will think that the Devil will allow Vladimir Putin to enter Hell. I’m thinking that the Devil won’t want the competition.

My favorite comic strip is, PEARLS BEFORE SWINE by Stephan Pastis. It is “caustic commentary on humanity’s quest for the unattainable.” Recently, a pig and a goat were talking:
Pig—“I have so many problems I don’t know where to start.”
Goat—“Whenever I feel like that I sit down and start writing out possible solutions.”
Pig—“1. Get rocket.  2. Leave planet.”
Goat—“Maybe more practical.”
Pig—“Hurry up Technology.  Hurry up Technology.”

That was also my answer during a discussion after a grim lecture about the effects of climate change on our planet. Everyone left feeling dejected about the future. So, the next week I brought an article from the WASHINGTON POST headlined, “A highway paved with recycled diapers may change the cloth vs disposable debate.” The first line in the article, “No it doesn’t smell like poop.” On a road in Wales more than 100,000 disposable dirty “nappies” (rinsed) were shredded and mixed with asphalt over a highway.  Italy has also gone the dirty diaper route. Ah! Ha! In the fight against pollution it’s, “one small step for man (careful where you step) and one giant leap for mankind.”

For those of you who are now being negative remember that “all of us are a bit crazy, but some cover it up better than others.” The pessimist will see the thorns on the saguaro cactus. I will see the flower on top, and the pessimist will say, “But you can’t pick it!” Perhaps there is room for a touch of both attitudes. If you want to see the red sky over the mountains, you have to look up, but don’t trip over the trash can while you are looking.

The optimist says, “Can’t get any better than this,” and the pessimist says, ‘This is as bad as it gets.” Maybe both are right at that moment. There is an unhappy man who lives in my senior residence. He hates where he lives, and I think he hates everyone here because he believes they are just like him. Unfortunately, negative people can move anywhere and be unhappy because they are stuck with themselves wherever they go.

Finally, for the pessimists who view climate change as Armageddon and give up, my advise is, “If you think this planet is bad—just wait until you see the others.”

Esther Blumenfeld

POKING THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Someone once said, “Cut off your ear and you’re a kook. Paint a picture of yourself with your ear cut off and you’re an artist. Go figure.”

Totally out of my comfort zone, I started to take art classes when I moved into Hacienda at the Canyon two years ago. My first art teacher said, “Everyone is an artist.” Of course she said that before seeing any of my creations.  What I lacked in talent, I excelled in enthusiasm, and for my first endeavor I enjoyed the assignment—painting rocks.  I now have a basket of my colorful painted rocks under a glass table in my office. My favorite is titled, “Rock Band.” All of my rocks are still life drawings unless I throw one off the balcony.

With another teacher, I pursued pencil sketching and then watercolors. I found out that I prefer sketching humans rather than painting landscapes, because all of my landscapes suffer from climate change.  However, I take comfort from Andy Warhol who said, “Art is what you can get away with.”  I’ll toast a can of tomato soup to his memory.

For my favorite class project, the rock teacher put a large canvas on the floor, and we all lined up to create a copy of a Jackson  Pollock abstract painting. We used his “drip technique” pouring and splashing and dripping liquid paint on the canvas. Happily, it turned out quite well, but I doubt it resembled his painting, “Convergence” (1952) because  there didn’t seem to be a single point anywhere. However, although it looked very Pollocky I don’t think it will ever sell for $18,000,000.00 or even $18.00. Pablo Picasso said, “The world doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?” Makes sense to me!

One of my favorite classes was the imaginative assembly of glass art. I designed so many of these suckers that when someone said, “Esther, I really like that piece.” I’d say, “It’s yours!” Now I can visit my glass masterpieces when I visit my friends and let them enjoy the clutter.

Poor Vincent van Gogh put his heart and soul into his paintings and lost his mind in the process. Not to worry! I plan to enjoy my paintings, but won’t go nuts over them.  I’m just going to make art and let someone else decide whether it’s good or not. Right now, I am learning a lot about oil painting in an oil Master Class where we copy a famous portrait of our choice. I am learning about layering paint on my blue jeans and some on the canvas.

Then there’s clay. What a good way to play with dirt!  First I made a basket with a critter sitting inside of it that looks like a dog with a cat’s body. I think the dog wants to jump out but the cat won’t let him.  My latest endeavor is a man’s head with a snake headdress. When finished he may decorate the toilet tank in my guest bathroom, but only if I am flushed with success.

Clay is rather messy, so I shower after each class. One morning I woke up and discovered a tiny lump of clay on my forehead.  It is now somewhere in my bed. Ah, the life of an artist.

The art gallery in my apartment is spread out. Sketches and paintings are hanging on the inside of my closet doors, and jumping about when I wash sheets in the laundry room. Only I am allowed to view the exhibit, because—after all— it is a very private showing.

Esther Blumenfeld

WOULDa COULDa SHOULDa

Nothing in life is perfect, but it’s the “needs improvement” that will drive you nuts!

In the painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, God and Adam reach out to each other, but they are not able to touch. So it is the same with perfection. Anyone, going that route is making a mistake which will lead to the non-productive “woulda coulda shoulda” second guessing game.

The great philosopher, Johnny Depp figured it out. “If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”

In days of yore, the university study of Psychology was under the umbrella of Philosophy. It was not considered a science. When I attended the University of Michigan (1954-1958) I minored in both subjects, but neither of them were included in the required science courses;
Astronomy, Biology, Zoology or Geology. Not wanting to dissect a frog, or tackle the statistics involved with Astronomy I chose Geology—“A science that deals with the history of the earth and its life, especially as recorded in rocks.” I like history and I like pretty rocks, so how bad could that be, especially for a person who thinks live frogs are kind of cute?

Other than a field trip to a very dirty gravel pit, I managed the first semester rather well, not very well, but almost pretty well.  However, the pit was my downfall. We were supposed to find fossils in the little rocks.  All I found was gravel. The second semester was a bitter learning experience. I discovered that I did not have the mental ability to read topographical maps. Heck! I didn’t have the ability to read a campus map. That campus was bigger than my home town. I hired a tutor to help me survive that second semester, and it took a tearful appeal to the professor to convince him that I had passed the class.  As a high achiever, it was the first and only “D” (or was it “D-“) that I had ever earned in my academic experience. Life does bring its ebbs and flows, and this was the pits!

Now, with the woulda coulda shoulda game, perhaps I should have chosen Zoology. I did take a semester of non-lab Zoology and did very well. But, on the other hand, that “D” did not really affect my life, and my decision did save one little frog from the chopping block.

Over the years,I have learned not to second guess myself, and to accept that I am not perfect. As a writer I learned that rejection is part of the profession. For example, in 1889 the San Francisco Examiner sent this rejection to Rudyard Kipling: “I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English Language.” If Kipling could take it, so could I!  Also, I learned that for every one person who would encourage me there were ten more who were waiting to gleefully knock me down, but sometimes life is just like that!  For instance, someone was always waiting to pan William Shakespeare’s plays: “A Midsummer Nights Dream,” performed in London in 1662 brought this review: “A most insipid, ridiculous play that I ever saw in my life.” (Samuel Pepys Diary). And, The Odessa Courier wrote about Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoi in 1877, “Sentimental Rubbish. Show me one page that contains an idea.”

No one is perfect—not even me!  That hurts, but I also have learned that 60 seconds of  anger serves no purpose except to lose 60 seconds of happiness, and life is just to damn short. Hindsight is not wisdom and second guessing past decisions is rather a masochistic exercise, unless you are into mental whips and chains. Things change all the time and they will never be the same, so it’s a good idea to do the best you can, keep things in perspective, and remember getting aggravated, and second guessing  the football game you watched yesterday, won’t change a thing.

Esther Blumenfeld

WHAT A DAY!

It’s a 40-mile-per-hour wind attack in Tucson, Arizona. The trees outside are bending, and the branches are whipping from side to side. Helplessly, I watch the plastic leaves, from the artificial tree on my balcony, fly merrily past my window. There they go!  That tree used to look like the real thing. Now it looks more like a naked stick. I know that my neighbors will look and say;  “ What person in her right mind would put a naked stick on her balcony?  That’s a heck of a decoration!” I admit that I do not have a green thumb nor any garden sense at all. I don’t even have a leaf blower. In the Spring, I will purchase another artificial tree. I think I will ask my neighbor to water it when I leave town. Couldn’t hurt!

If possible, I do not venture out on extremely windy days. Nor do I run around in the rain. Rain is something I like to view from inside my apartment.  On those days, I plan apartment projects. Lucky for me, it doesn’t rain that often, so I don’t have to accomplish too much.

It’s a perfect day to shred tax files from six years ago. I only have room in the box, in my closet, for five years worth of files. So, more than five years of files—“To heck with it!” If the IRS wants to toss an old lady into jail, how much worse can it be than a Covid lock-down? Actually, I really don’t have that much to shred, because most of my beloved deductions have already been shredded by Congress. However, as I am blithe-fully shredding along, my shredder decides to clog—not the shoe dance—but the “Don’t make me eat any more of that paper” dance.

It’s been that kind of a day, and I have had enough!   I unplugged the shredder, got a scissors, and said, “I may never be able to grow a plastic tree, but by-gum by-golly I’m going to unclog you even if I have to shove a laxative into your jaw!” It took an hour and a mess of shredded paper on the floor, but I was victorious—battle weary— but a winner!

Later I signed up to attend a  movie in the Screening Room located near my apartment. Just what I needed—a comedy. I arrived on time, found a good seat, adjusted my mask and waited for the film to begin. After fifteen minutes, the audience was informed that the “stick” wasn’t working, and the movie would be rescheduled.  I offered the “ the stick—on my balcony—that used to be a tree, but was informed that it wasn’t that kind of a stick.

I was left with two choices: I could relax with a good book or watch a really bad television show.  My guilty pleasure, “The Bachelor,” won out.  Remember: Scarlett did say to Rhett, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”

Esther Blumenfeld