SAME VOICE

It gives me pane to sea Putin’s bear chest to aye his mussels. Parish the thought that he could chews too by a shirt. You’d think that the Knight of the Living Dead could write a Czech to afford to bye one, butt he’s probably two  cheep. It is a reel fax that Russia is running out of cache.  Give me a brake!

That paragraph is an example of some earthy Homophones that sound the same as other words, but have a different meaning, and to make it more difficult sometimes Homophones are even spelled the same way such as: watch, tear and fly.

“If the English language made any sense, lackadaisical would have something to do with a shortage of flowers.” (Doug Larson)  And, if you have ever laughed at someone with an accent, remember she speaks more than one language.

The reason I bring all of this up is that you Native English Speakers have no inkling of how difficult it is to learn the robust English language. However, lots of people who were born into it tend to abuse it when it gets in their way.  I should know, because I had to learn English when I was a three-year-old who spoke fluent German when my parents and I escaped the Nazis in 1939. “Only English” was the rule in our home, since my Father, who was already fluent in seven languages, had to improve his pronunciation and English language skills to remain successful in his profession. For instance, when he conducted his first funeral, he asked the President of the Congregation if he had done all right. The President was complimentary, but suggested that the next time Dad might want to say, “The man was deceased…not diseased.”

Rules or no rules, I wanted none of it! I, the stubborn child, wanted everyone to speak the way I did. Mother was quite concerned, but Dad said, “Don’t worry, the children in the neighborhood will teach her English.” Everyday, when I came into the house after playing outside, Mother would ask (in German) “Did you learn any English today?”And everyday I would shake my head “NO!” However after a week, she asked again, “Did you learn any English today?” I smiled, looked at her, and said, “Shit, Booger, Fart!” Hooray, I was an American. Of course, we all became fluent in English. One room in our home was a library, and Dad told me, “You can read any book you can reach without standing on a chair,” and he knew he had it made when he dreamed in English.

I not only learned the English language, I fell in love with it, and eventually my love affair with beautiful, expressive words became my career. However, English is an ever-changing language constantly in flux. Sometimes, I will use a word, and my son, Josh will say, “Mom, no one uses that word anymore,” and I will reply, “I do.” Other times some words fly away with the winds of extinction, and probably rightfully so. Other times, I find that there are words that I do not understand—especially those involving new technologies—even when I look them up.

So, I realize that the limits of my language draw the limits of my world, but that’s okay. When my parents moved to a retirement community, someone asked my Father, “Is it difficult for you to move?” He replied, “Not as long as I have my books.  My books are my portable homeland.”

Esther Blumenfeld

KEEP ON MOVING

This morning I walked past the exercise room on my way to the swimming pool.  I stopped and watched in awe as I saw several really old folks (like me) pushing, pulling, sweating, grunting and walking on the exercise equipment. I’m not sure if any of them qualify as “hard bodies,” but no one can argue that they aren’t maximizing being as healthy as possible—unless one of the machines throws them off.

I take a different approach. I try to hike outside for at least an hour, or 45 minutes, every morning—unless the sun tells me it’s time for air-conditioning. I’ve also become an avid fan of Chair Yoga. I stretch and sit in a chair, because lying on a mat hurts my back. I even do Yoga exercises in the pool. However, I don’t touch my toes, because  then I would drown.

When I was a child, exercise involved Mom yelling, “Go out and play!” I enjoyed roller skating, but that meant wearing leather shoes and tightening the skates around my shoes with a metal key. Everyday, I’d hit a crack in the sidewalk and the skates would fly off and I’d go home with skinned knees. Safety wasn’t that much of an issue in those days. I can’t remember a piece of play equipment that didn’t bloody my elbows or knees. The see-saw was fun until I sat way up high and the kid at the bottom ran off to play elsewhere as I hit the ground.  I liked my bike with the thick tires until I hit a wall. In my case, Klutz took on a whole new meaning. My favorite exercise in those days was climbing the neighbor’s apple tree, eating the apples and making up stories about the clouds in the sky.

High School not only required physical activity but added a sadistic gym teacher named Fanny to the equation. If she caught a girl chewing gum in class, she’d make her spit the gum on the gym floor, step on it and then scrape it up with a dull knife. Fanny also shouted, “Scrub pimples with soap!” Climbing ropes was big on her agenda.  I was too short to reach the ropes let along climb them, and, Field Hockey was played without shin guards. I quickly volunteered to be the umpire.  I wasn’t a very good umpire, but my friends didn’t care because they weren’t very good players.

At college, I was required to take four non-credit quarters of physical education. My first choice was tennis which involved a lot of running around and trying to hit a little ball with my big racquet. I received an A for attendance. The second course I chose was fencing. I did quite well until a six foot Amazon came at me, and I ran like Hell. She chased me around the room until she realized that the rubber tip had fallen off her foil.  Then I stumbled upon a class called “Posture, Figure and Carriage.” That I could do!  I walked around with a book on my head. I think the teacher thought that one could absorb Tolstoy through the hair.  After walking around we’d lie down and learn how to relax, which I enjoyed very much—especially after walking in the snow— way across campus to get to the P.E. building. To fill the requirement, I took this class twice. The Physical Education, non- credit class was dropped the next year.  I think that was the year they added Statistics to the Foreign Language Department.

I used to be a good swimmer until I tore up my shoulder. So, now I go to the pool, do my Yoga, and then I float about with a pool noodle making up stories about the clouds.

 I have traded roller skates for a walking stick. When I turned 80, my son, Josh requested that I get one. He said, “Mom, when you go hiking in the mountains the walking stick will protect you from falls, and from mountain lions.” He was right. So far, I haven’t fallen or been eaten by a mountain lion. The one time I did encounter a mountain lion, she took one look at me and obviously had no taste for old meat.

Esther Blumenfeld  (Four breaths in.  Five breaths out.  It works every time

IS A BUTTERFLY A FISH?

As I established in my last column, we don’t have to worry about an uprising of fish, because, not only do we have a fully trained military to protect us, we also have all those licensed fishermen who can bait a hook without injuring anyone except maybe their own thumbs.

 A license ensures that a person is not only competent, but has been trained, and has passed a test to do something complex such as driving a car. When misused, an automobile can be classified as a deadly weapon.

 So, why do 41 states require make-up artists, who work in spas and salons, to have licenses, and gun owners do not?  I think it’s because applying makeup can be very dangerous, especially when the make-up artist pulls the trigger on his high-capacity foundation spritzer, and a woman’s smile turns into a smirk.

Unarmed security guards are licensed in 32 states. North Dakota even requires them to have 1000 hours of experience before becoming eligible to walk around and check the doors. Who needs guns when you’ve got snowballs?  Lots of folks need licenses to do a variety of things. In Louisiana a person needs to pass an exam for a floristry license, because that will assure people that you’ve been well-trained and will not put Poison Ivy into a wedding bouquet.

And then, there’s the marriage license. Some people want to control who should be allowed to marry the person they love, but those people don’t care if the prospective father-in-law   brings an assault  rifle to the wedding. However, I do admit that buckshot is hard to control.

I am not sure that sex is more dangerous than an AK-77, but a lot of it has to be licensed. Whether you have a strip club, nude dancers, a store loaded with sex toys (not motorcycles), adult books, videos or sex films the owners have to go through stringent licensing requirements.

In Florida, minors are protected by laws that they cannot be involved in sex films. That is certainly vital!  All children should be protected from the monster who carries an assault camera loaded with film!

By the way, if a person doesn’t have a  license for all of these things, he’d better hire an attorney who does, because if you have a license and you break the law, you are in big doo-doo.

So, to end this perplexing tale, Time Magazine (June, 2022) informs us that the District Court of Appeals in California made a ruling on May 31st that, “Bumblebees can indeed be classified as fish for the purposes of being protected by the California Endangered Species Act.” Consequently, if you want catch a fish, get a license and buy a butterfly net.

Esther Blumenfeld

IT'S A PUZZLEMENT

“Sometimes I’m confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn’t obvious.” (Michael Stipe, lead singer R.E.M.)

My problem is that I think a lot.  If I’d stop doing that, I’d probably not be so confused about what is happening around me. For instance, I find it confusing that gun owners don’t need a license to own a gun, because people are required to get a license to catch a fish. Trying to find an answer I re-read the Second Amendment of the Constitution, and now I get it! We have a well-trained Army, Navy, Marine Corp and Air Force, so we don’t have to worry about an uprising of fish.

On a simpler level of confusion—Question: In a cookbook, what’s the difference between, “Serves Four,” or “Four Servings?” Answer: (that I came up with) inviting four football players to dinner.

Here is probably the worst question someone can ask you— “So tell me, what do you think?” I have discovered that the least confusing way to handle that question is to not give an answer, but just smile. They will assume that you are a deep thinker. That is always better than saying, “The answer is crystal clear,” because Pawan Mishra suggests, “Isn’t life a collection of weird quizzes with no answers to half the questions?”  If a leader in finance and technology can say that, I don’t have to be so perplexed when my checkbook doesn’t balance.

Also, voting is now high on the bafflement meter.  It seems as if the mantra of many politicians these days is: “If you can’t convince the public—confuse them!” Then voting becomes so complicated that there are no longer any game rules in elections. Consequently, the fact that every citizen should be allowed the right to vote is often tossed to the winds of mistrust. Some people don’t want voting machines while others want to reject the U.S. mail-in votes, and others want to remove polling places. It is so confusing. Is there an answer?

Perhaps we should return to a vote by hand, but since the majority of people in the U.S. are right handed the lefties would have a justified case for the Supreme Court. I am guessing that the Supremes— in a vote of 6 to 3— would approve of the sticking out of tongues, one tongue for “Yes” and the forked tongue for “No.” Consequently, with the exception of the tongueless,  the “Ahhh’s” would win lickity spit.

Finally, to quote the paragon of virtue, Johnny Depp, “I try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face.”  I don’t know much about Johnny Depp’s face, but I do know that confusion can also be a good thing when it leads to a clearer mind and to the truth— as long as we don’t confuse what we wish for— for what  really is.

Esther Blumenfeld

DIMINISHING RETURNS

This morning as I carried my bags of groceries into my apartment, I noticed that the bags seemed much lighter than usual. The boxes, cans and paper goods that I unpacked looked the same, but something had radically changed. Yikes! I had been attacked by Shrinkflation. I don’t know the name of the economist who came up with that term, but it’s now in the vernacular.

Shrinkflation is a sneaky way of hiding the cost of everyday food, drink and paper products without actually raising the price. Consequently, hundreds of items have shrunk. So what you now purchase might meet the needs of a Lilliputian. A case in point: Charmin Toilet Paper isn’t as charming as it used to be, because the original 650 sheets per roll now only contain about half of that amount. Even the Mega Rolls don’t have as many sheets as they used to and the sheets have gotten smaller. So, if you are, “Two Sheets to the Wind,” you are probably actually only “One Sheet to the Wind,” but that’s okay because your bottle of Vodka has probably also shrunk.

Even good old General Mills has shrunk its Family Sized Boxes of cereal by almost 10%.
Consumer advocate, Edgar Dworsky told the Washington Post, “Do we raise the price knowing the consumer will grumble, or do we give them a little bit less and accomplish the same thing? It’s easier to do the latter.”

Also, the folks who shop at Walmart hoping for better deals are also getting the shaft. Walmart Great Value Paper Towels dropped from 168 sheets per roll to 120, but the price stayed the same. And, if you want to get kissed by Hersheys Dark Chocolate Kisses, you’ll get 20 ounces less of romance for the same price.

Here’s my question: If you are paying the same for less doesn’t that mean that you are really paying more? Join me on a romp down The Yellow Brick Road. There’s got to be a Wizard down there somewhere.  

OKAY! There are less Wheat Thins in the same size “Reduced Fat” box. If I dunk some into a “Reduced Fat” smaller jar of Skippy Peanut Butter,” and the price of the food that I bought stays the same, but the size of the goods in the box gets smaller, Why haven’t I lost weight?

It’s a puzzlement.

Esther Blumenfeld