MY DIAGNOSIS

When I first moved into my senior residence I met a woman with a blue face. I had never seen a woman with a blue face, so I asked a friend, “How did she get a blue face?” The friend said, “She tried to climb a light pole.” I said, “She tried to climb a light pole?” “Yes,” my friend replied, “With her car.” As the blue in her face finally faded, I realized that perhaps since I was now living in a senior residence, I might encounter more unfamiliar medical phenomena. However, I vowed never to join a woman’s club that celebrated not having prostatitis.

Of course, living in a senior residence means that there are very few juniors around, and that all of my new friends are remarkable, active old people, who make the most of each day with good humor and gratitude, and every one of them has a story to tell.  However, before I can tap into the child within, I often have to listen to some people’s organ recitals sometimes involving replaced body parts. Some folks are truly bionic creatures rebuilt with lots of metal.

It used to be that when someone told you of his (or her) “Body of Work,” it related to their professional career. Now, I suspect that with some people ailments have become a competitive sport. Hip! Hip! Hooray! takes on a whole new meaning when complaining evolves into bragging.

So far, I have been fortunate to be in relative good health, but there are some mornings when I get out of bed and everything hurts. It’s really not that bad when I rationalize that my body is letting me know that I am still alive.

Since I don’t have a medical degree, and am not familiar with complicated terminology, it has forced me to enroll in the Mr. Google School of Medicine.  I am now majoring in unfamiliar ailments, pharmaceutical ingredients and cures. I think I am a pretty good student. When a 90-year-old woman told me, “I am suffering from cramps,” I tapped into my medical training and said, “You are too old for that!” She huffed, “In my feet! “In my feet!”  The next day a man said to me, “I feel old!” My diagnosis:  “That’s okay.  You are old!”

Don’t get the wrong idea, no matter what life is dishing out, most of my friends are facing each day with optimism. Face it!  Getting old isn’t easy. But then, being young is no picnic either. No one lives a charmed life. If you have one, selective memory helps!

There is no place I would rather be right now than with peers who get it. Everyday is still an adventure, and there is still time and opportunity to make life as rich and rewarding as possible. It’s like George Burns said:

“You know you’re getting old when you stoop to tie your shoelaces and wonder what else you could do while you’re down there.”

Esther Blumenfeld

THE BLOB

Two shots from Gavrilo Princip’s gun in Sarajevo ignited the fires that drew Europe toward World War I.

 Lee Harvey Oswald’s bullet killed John Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States, and perhaps that act served to extend the Viet Nam War.

Senator John McCain’s “NO” vote, to repeal the Affordable Health Care Act, saved health care for millions of people.

Senator Joe Manchin’s “NO” votes will further many attempts to disenfranchise minorities of their voting rights, and serve to block President Biden’s plans to improve the lives of our citizens.

It is hard to understand that the act of one person can change the course of history. That is why it is so appealing to believe in conspiracy theories. It is much easier to believe that it takes more than one person to get us into a mess— or get us out of one.

For many folks, it is also terrifying to believe that we, the people on Planet Earth, are the only viable life in the Universe. Surely, this can’t be as good as it gets!  In 1952, there were reports that “flying saucers” were seen on radar “swarming our Capitol.” In 2021 insurrectionists swarmed the US Capitol. In 1952 TV owners reported their TVs were acting “wacky.”  In 2021 people were acting wacky. In 1952 senior military officials blamed the weather. In 2021 some politicians blamed over enthusiastic tourists. So what should we believe?

I’m not sure if some folks in Mississippi are still making home-brewed rot gut, but should we  really believe the men who claimed they were abducted by aliens? And, they are not talking about undocumented men coming in from Mexico.  It makes no sense.  Why would extraterrestrials pick up some yahoos from Mississippi when they could hit the jackpot in Las Vegas?

So, now, in 2021, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about, Senator Marco Rubio told the reporter on 60 MINUTES, “There’s a stigma on Capitol Hill” (as if we didn’t know) but he was talking about the resurrected subject of UFOs (Unidentified Flying Objects).

It is so much easier to distract people with fuzzy photos of blobs in the sky than recognize the attempts of unethical people who are attempting to upend  our fragile democracy. Consequently, under pressure the US Government is once more taking a hard look at unidentified flying objects, and the forthcoming report will find that they have “found no extraterrestrial link to the sightings reported or captured on video.” However, realistically, they won’t rule out a link to another country causing mischief.  Yes!  It just might be a real problem from our neighbors on Earth.

To paraphrase science historian, Michael Sherman, editor of  SKEPTIC MAGAZINE, “Several billion people worldwide have smartphones that take crisp images, and satellites precisely render detail on the ground. Show me those pictures.”  So far, in most cases, all the mysterious sightings have been disproven under examination.

Also, I remember in years past, an insurance company insured actress Betty Grable’s legs for a $million. I don’t know if any insurance company on Earth will cover an alien abduction—even in Mississippi.

Esther Blumenfeld

SIS-BOOM-BAH

When playing outside with his ten-year-old sister, my seven-year-old friend, Andy said, “You are very forgetful. I diagnose you with Onomatopoeia!“ Whereupon, his sister, Julia probably should have replied, “Buzz Off!” Then there was a tick-tock from the outdoor clock, and they knew it was time to go inside for their cereal that was snap, crackling and popping in the kitchen.

Perhaps you can use Andy’s diagnosis with the following true story.
 
Many years ago, I was all a twitter being a  freshman at the University of Michigan.
Unfortunately, when I came home for a visit, I managed to bring some brand new riff-raff language with me. After blurting out one of these cock-a-doodle-doo words, my Father said, “Tsk-Tsk, Dear, do you know that English is a robust language. Surely, you can find a word better than that.” A bell went off in my head, and I felt like a complete ding-dong.

My Mom then asked me if I would like to take their brand new car for a run on the highway, and
drive them to visit friends who lived in another town. The car looked shiny new, but it had a Chitty- Chitty-Bang-Bang engine. I started the car with a big Vroom!

The trip was uneventful until I got to the city limits, and put on the brakes which squealed like the sound of a Wolverines claws being extended “Snikt!” I almost hit a telephone pole.  Phew!
“What are you doing?” asked Dad from the back seat?  I pulled out the unattached rod and steering wheel and handed it to him. We had almost experienced a big Kaboom. I thought that maybe Mom had fainted, because there was not a boo-hoo, a peep nor a squeal out of her. But finally I heard a distinct “Phew.”

A mechanic finally arrived, and picked up the the car to take it to his shop for a steering wheel re-attachment. When asked when the car would be ready to drive he replied with a yawn and a mmm. Dad explained to him that the car had gone “zip when it moved and bop when it stopped.” (Tom Paxton quote).

Our hostess picked us up, but she greeted us with a sniff and achoo having developed an allergy from raking rustling leaves. It began to rain—first a drop, then a drizzle, and lot of plops and finally quite a gush.

When we arrived at her house, we were greeted with a growl, a bow-wow and an arf. The growl came from her husband. Other than slurping his soup and an occasional burp, he was quite a hoot, and the chatter produced a few giggles.

Finally, the ho-hum mechanic delivered the car and assured us that the steering wheel was now attached, as he walloped my Father with a whopping big bill.

We returned home safely.  It had been a “Rattle and Hum” (U 2) visit, but all’s well that ends well with a healthy clickety-clack.

Esther Blumenfeld

STAR SAILORS

In 1986, congressman Bill Nelson spent six days orbiting the earth aboard the space  shuttle Colombia. Today, he is the new head of NASA, but he still doesn’t consider himself an astronaut.  He recently said, “I reserve that term for my professional colleagues.”

Not so much for the super rich who pay $55million for a passenger seat into space. You betcha’ they call themselves astronauts. They figure if they can buy a seat, they can buy a title. With that kind of money, they could buy every ticket in a football stadium, the stadium itself and the team. However, even if they buy a team there is no guarantee that they will buy a winner—nor have they earned the title, “Coach.”

For $55million the super rich could live on a cruise ship for 124 years, but they couldn’t buy the longevity, and even if they took the title, “Captain,” they’d still have to know how to navigate the Panama Canal.

It seems to reason that for $55million an affluent person could buy at least 50 senators and a handful of  congressional representatives. Unfortunately, senators always come at a higher price, but even if you’d call yourself, “President” it doesn’t make it so.

Just think that for $55million a super rich-nick could star in his own film, give himself an academy award, and call himself, “Mr. Right Stuff,” and then there’s the bargain that for $500,000 he could buy a top of the line Lamborghini, and for that kind of money not even be required to spell it right.

In Greek mythology Icarus, the flyer had wings made of feathers and wax that melted when he flew too close to the sun. The moral of that tale is that ambition can lead to unexpected consequences.  

More than 12,000 people have applied for NASA’S upcoming class of astronauts and 12 will be chosen in December. They are training for the job and some will fly into space with specific assignments. The difference is that they will be assigned to fly whereas very rich passengers are really just along for the ride.

Extinguishing a campfire does not make that person a fireman.
Removing a splinter from a child’s finger does not make that person a surgeon.
And, singing in the shower does not make anyone a rock star.

It takes 1 1/2 hours to orbit the earth. It takes less than 5 minutes to write a check. In Australia a quality hit man only costs $45,000. What a bargain! And, you don’t even have to go along for the ride.

“I figured it out. I figured it out.  I figured it out.  
With a pencil and a pad I figured it out.
7 1/2 cents doesn’t buy a heck of a lot,
7 1/2 cents doesn’t mean a thing,
But give it to me every hour, Forty hours every week,
And that’s enough for me to be living like a king.”

(THE PAJAMA GAME, Richard Adler, Jerry Ross)

Esther Blumenfeld

MOVIN' ON

Tony Bennett left his heart in San Francisco. I recently met a woman whose husband left his appendix in Pakistan.

In our lifetime, all of us have left something behind. That’s inevitable as we move forward. When I moved into a brand new senior residence (built across the street from my home) I knew I’d have to divest myself of stuff—lots and lots of stuff! My son, Josh came and picked out items that he and my dear daughter-in-law, Barbara wanted for their home, and we shipped 25 boxes to Virginia. After he left, I became a once-a-week donor for Big Brothers and Big Sisters. When I called them, the lady on the phone said, “I know you. You’re a regular!”

My house sold in less than 24 hours, and since the new owners loved my 25-year-old furniture, I gave most of it to them. My former neighbors have told me that nothing has changed in the house except for the new owners—but, I have!

Besides having purchased some new furniture, I have also cultivated new friendships. Since most of us moved in before the pandemic, we had three months to get acquainted. We were all newbies in the same boat.  No one wanted to hear someone complain about, “selling my beautiful house.” We all had sold beautiful houses. Of course, some were probably more beautiful than others, but it was an: “Out with the old. In with the new” atmosphere.

Some people had trouble parting with their antique furniture that was too big for their apartments, or they just couldn’t rid themselves of dust catching itty bitty shelf collections, but as a friend reminded me, “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.”

As one gets older, too many friends of long standing are no longer standing.  As painful as that can be, it is important to make room for new people in your heart, because time gets shorter and their stories are worth hearing—as long as memory is intact.  But, first you have to get used to listening to a litany of body part complaints, before hearing about the abundance of adventures experienced by some of these truly remarkable people—what they have lived and what they have survived—and, most of them have not lost their sense of humor about the whole kit and caboodle called life. The reason I am never bored is that I listen!

Here’s a touch of what I have learned so far: One man was an expert in computers before most of us had ever even heard of computers. Another neighbor had been a mid-wife. He pulled out information, and she pulled out babies.

Then there’s the man who shared some of his adventures as a glider pilot. I learned a lot about downdrafts and not getting in the way of eagles. Oh, yes, I can’t forget to tell you that one of my neighbors was a race car driver. When she pulls into a parking place, I always look for a pit crew.

And, then, there’s the captivating woman who plays a less than brilliant, “Happy Birthday” on her ukulele, but can give a concert performance by Chopin on her Baby Grand Piano. She also has fascinating stories about her eight years as an assistant to a famous television celebrity. The only problem is that she talks faster than I can stir batter in a mix master. It’s a New York thing.

My new neighbors and friends include artists, business owners, authors, editors, real estate brokers and dabblers, photographers, physicians, nurses, journalists, social workers, a political lobbyist, professors, attorneys, industrialists,  a professional fund raiser, engineers, teachers, school principals, and I could go on and on. So far, I have not met an acrobat, but sometimes someone tries a balancing act on the sidewalk.

My new residence offers many opportunities to learn new skills and try something you have never done before.  As an extremely amateur artist, I was recently asked by the art teacher to exhibit one of my abstract paintings on the art wall in the lobby. It is hanging next to a beautiful photograph taken by a professional photographer,  who has had much of his work published. When I said to my son (on Face Time) “That is really intimidating, he replied, “Mom, just switch name plates.”

Everyday is an adventure—some more than others.  Tomorrow we will have a fire drill, and when the alarm is sounded we are supposed to go to the nearest exit. I am expecting this to happen when I am in my Yoga class. My only concern is that the folks in Tai Chi won’t get there before the drill is over.

Esther Blumenfeld