TURN OFF THE LIGHTS

Having house guests from out of town is a great pleasure for me, and I always enjoyed entertaining the many friends who visited and stayed in our home over the years. However, when my husband and I moved to Tucson, Arizona, we were warned that we will encounter people who want a place to stay in the winter, rather than especially wanting to see us.

I scoffed at that, until I received a phone call from a woman in Atlanta, Georgia. I wasn’t sure who she was until she reminded me that we had met at a party several months before I had moved to Tucson. I remembered the party. I did not remember her. She gushed, “My husband and I are coming to Tucson for a week. We would just adore spending time with you.” At that, I replied, “How nice, and where are you staying?” I never heard from her again.

The strangest encounter with house guests was a story told to me by some friends who were hosting a fancy party in their home. Their out-of-town in-laws were invited to stay with them. They arrived the day before the party. That evening they all went to bed early, because of the many preparations ahead. The next morning, my friends entered their kitchen, and discovered that the kitchen walls had been painted an electric blue. The in-laws had painted them during the night as a nice surprise. The day of the celebration was spent repainting the kitchen walls, and the evening was spent entertaining unsuspecting party goers.

Then there is the problem of guests who won’t leave.

I never had a problem with guests who overstayed their welcome, but I am  part owner of a very large house that has had many guests over the years.  Happily, not one of them has stayed longer than was expected. Unfortunately, there is a guest staying there now, who just may overstay his welcome, and refuse to leave. A guest who is no longer welcome, and won’t leave, is technically a trespasser.  So, how should I, and my fellow owners of the house, handle the situation should it arise?

First of all, we must make sure that the trespasser knows that he is no longer welcome. It can be difficult to tell someone, whom you have previously given permission to stay in your house, that he must go somewhere else. If he won’t leave, I guess changing the WI-FI password might work. Stripping his bed while he is in it seems a bit drastic, but taking the key and changing the locks is a possibility.  Things can get tricky if the houseguest has paid any money toward household expenses, because then he may be considered a tenant. I don’t think that this will pose a problem.

Here are a few polite ways to get a guest to leave:
 
Remind him there is an end time on the invitation.
Start helping him to pack.
Throw out the hamburger wrappers and put a lock on the refrigerator.
Politely ask him how he is getting home.
If all else fails, bring out family movies of the people who were guests in the house right before he moved in.

Finally, you have to be prepared that he may be a bit upset—all a-twitter and sputtering tweets. But you have to be firm and let him know he has over stayed his welcome, by saying, “It’s not working out anymore, and we can’t afford for you to live here any longer.”

If none of these suggestions work, call Truly Nolan and ask them to bring an extra big sprayer.

Remember: “Every house guest brings you happiness. Some when they arrive, and some when they are leaving.” Confucius

Esther Blumenfeld

HOMOPHONES ARE NOT A SEXUAL PREFERENCE

Years ago, the precedent of a large corporation dyed, and the second in command called to hire me to right the eulogy he had bin asked to deliver. So, sympathetically I replied,”It will cost you!” And, it did.

Never having seen nor met the man who past away, I needed to due some research before righting a few words that sounded sincere. Of course, the best way to dew that was to talk to sum people who new him. I started by searching out an elderly ant who new him since his berth. She told me that he had been the air to a large fortune on his mother’s side that provided him the lute to begin his business.

Then, I approached the mother of his too children, and she spoke from the hart. It was rather a bazaar conversation, because although she didn’t seem to like him very much, she side when she said, “He eight too much, liked his boos, and was a cheep lyre.”

Well, that would have maid for a colorful eulogy, but all I could rite was that she gave me a pique into his colorful personality. Next, I tried a neighbor, but the on-going lawsuit about a creak that ran between their properties had lead to nothing butt descent.

His forth wife was quite attractive. She had put lots of moose into her  hare  which hung down to her waste.  She war a very tight read cashmere  sweater, body-fitting genes and five-inch heals. She seamed board with my questions, as she waived her wet fingernails near my face. About her husband, she tolled me that, “He had gneiss hare,” and “His aftershave had a gneiss cent.” Then she put on her furze, and left. But, rite before she gambled out, she did mention that her step children were  going to stop contesting the will long enough to attend the funeral. They planned to say a few vial words about hymn.

Whew!  That left me off the hook. They could preys him or tell the grizzly plane truth. All that was left to me was to talk to his secretary, whom I was tolled, thought him a grate boss. Finally, someone who could give me a clew what to say about the old buoy. When it was her tern to talk, she came close to tears, and with a horse voice she whaled something about prophets and duel accounts and doctored tacks, and although he had given her a lone, and she was no none, she had to admit he was truly a “retch.”

Unfortunately, I had mist nothing, but I had an assignment, so I wrote: “He took the rains of his father’s business, and in a matter of daze, it became a success far and wide. He would go on to urn a reputation that would be preys from see to see. This was quite a feet, and he will always be remembered and mist by those in the whirled of business. Let us paws,  raze our glasses to hail him and say, Buy, Buy to The Head of our Teem.”

And that’s the whey it was.

Esther Blumenfeld

HOT STUFF

Twenty years ago, I had surgery, and that was the last time I had my temperature taken, until now, when COVID-19 invaded our shores. These days, I have my temperature taken at least once a day. Twenty years ago, the nurse stuck a glass mercury-solution thermometer under my tongue, and told me not to talk. That was the hard part! Of course, swallowing the thermometer was frowned upon. However, nowadays Vladimir Putin would have no compunction giving his rival a glass of mercury tea. How times have changed.


Many years before that, lots of people, when using glass thermometers, were asked to bend over to have their temperatures taken. I think that’s when bowing became passe. Temperature taking used to be a rather simple procedure, but now a full page in the Arizona Daily Star was devoted to the subject, “How to best use different types of thermometers.” Information was gleaned from, “The Mayo Clinic News Network,” so I knew this was going to be good!

Modern thermometers are digital. So, with digital thermometers what precautions should one take? I know it must be very expensive if you swallow one. Of course, washing your hands and cleaning the thermometer with alcohol is recommended. I think that means rubbing alcohol, not bourbon.

My favorite suggestion was, “Don’t use the same thermometer for both oral and rectal temperatures. Get two and label which is used where.” It wasn’t made clear to me whether a digital thermometer can travel the nether regions.

The article proceeded to describe the digital ear thermometer which uses an infrared ray to measure the temperature inside the ear canal. I guess if you have a seven-year old boy, it can also detect a green bean he might have stuck in there for safe keeping.

Then there’s the temporal artery thermometer. This one uses an infrared scanner to measure the temperature of the temporal artery when the nurse sweeps it across your forehead. Unfortunately, that one never works for me, because after taking a hike in 100+degree weather my bangs stick to my forehead, so the person taking incoming temperatures has to sweep my neck, which isn’t really my forehead, but I never mention this, since I am always in the healthy hot zone.

Oral glass thermometers are still used, but it’s not a good idea to drink a hot cup of coffee before having your temperature taken, or drinking a glass of ice cold water, because then your temperature might be so low that you may be declared dead.

In the good old days, the nurse would  hold your wrist and look at her watch to keep track of how long you have kept the thermometer under your tongue. It was always disconcerting when she was called away, and you were left, all alone, with a thermometer under your tongue. Digital thermometers beep when they are done.

Before I read the article, I had never heard of armpit temperature taking, but that temperature  isn’t  supposed to be too reliable since you might end up with the temperature of a close-fitting undergarment instead of an armpit.

97 to 99 degrees is the range for a normal temperature, and if you have a temperature of 100.4, you probably have a fever, that could be caused by an infection, or standing out in the sun too long. The Mayo Clinic also advised that if you feel hot, you just might sweat, and sweat cools off the body. Let’s hear it for sweat!  However, if you feel cold, shivering will make you feel warmer.  Yes, and a blanket would probably also help.

So, with that, I wish all of you a most healthy 98.6 day.

Esther Blumenfeld

GOING TOURIST CLASS

On August 20, I had my first real outing in almost six months. I was going to leave the safety of my apartment, get into my car and drive a few miles to attend an arranged meeting with actual live people.

This was truly an occasion! I even washed the back window of my car. I showered, put on a dress, carefully applied make-up  and strapped sandals, rather than my reliable sneakers, onto my feet. My outfit was complete when I put on a colorful mask. This is the mask that always prompts delightful compliments such as, “Oh, what a beautiful mask!”

I arrived at my destination on time, and the doors opened automatically.  I was greeted by a woman wearing a mask (not as fashionable as mine) and she blocked my way until she took my temperature. Then she presented me with some blue rubber gloves that were a perfect match with my dress. Then she pointed the way to a desk where I was asked to present my photo I.D. and health insurance cards.

Looking around the room, I noticed a few other guests sitting in chairs far-far away from me. I picked a chair that did not have a sign on it reading, “Do Not Sit Here!” I assumed  those signs meant,  “If you sit in one of these chairs, we will drag your butt out of it.” Some party! We were sitting so far away from each other that we weren’t even in shouting distance.

In a few minutes, a masked young man—don’t know how old he was, but his voice had already changed—called my name and asked me to follow him. We entered a small cubicle. He didn’t offer me a cocktail, but he did spray my chair with alcohol before I sat down. He then asked me,”How’s your vision?” I said, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Then he wiped off a hand-held vision doo-dad, and said, “Keep your glasses on and we will check it out one eye at a time. That didn’t go so well, because, since I was still breathing under my mask, my glasses fogged up. However, I did pretty well under the circumstances.

After he got the information he needed, he escorted me into the room where I would be greeted by he host of this soiree, Dr. Wong, who is such a good Retina doctor that his dance card is full. I was hoping that Chinese food would be on the menu, but I got three different kinds of drops into my eyes instead.

Dr. Wong looked deeply into my eyes and told me that he didn’t want to see me for another year. I took the rejection well, since his good report was the best party favor I could ever receive. Since the festivities were over, I threw away my blue rubber gloves, and drove home partially blinded by the drops. I washed my dress, wiped off the bottom of my shoes and took a shower.

Can’t wait to see what my next outing will be like.  Hope the Dermatologist will also throw a good party. After all, I’ve got some skin in that game.

Esther Blumenfeld

WEATHER IT

“Whether it’s cold or whether it’s hot, there’s going to be weather whether or not.” True, but when it’s 105+ degrees every day of the week, that’s SOME weather!

Living in Arizona, people make the lame excuse, “But it’s a dry heat,” and, the equally lame rejoinder is, “Yes, but it’s kind of like sticking your head in an oven.” However, with the promise of monsoon rains, the rising humidity makes it feel more like sticking your head in a hot dishwasher.

 So, what’s the remedy if you want air other than air conditioning? The only feasible answer is to set your alarm clock to 4:30 a.m., get your butt out of bed, and be outside as soon as it gets light enough that you can avoid a rattlesnake on the path.  Admittedly, when I was younger, I could be ready to rock and roll in about 15 minutes. Now, it takes me an hour. No short cuts. It takes me an hour. However, I am not the only person suffering a touch of insanity. I do enjoy the company of my fellow early bird regular walkers. They are a cheerful bunch of masked wonders.

I usually meet up with beautiful, Tina, a 79-year-old youngster, who has already jogged her 4 miles, and slows down to accommodate my short legs. I still have to take 2 steps for every one of hers. Then there’s the fellow who climbs up a steep hill, so he can bowl rocks down. So far, he hasn’t hit me because he bowls gutter rocks.

I particularly enjoy the little dogs who drag their masters behind them. One tiny pup wants me to pet her, and is so excited to see me that she pees on the sidewalk. Then there’s the  roll- over for a tummy rub (the dog not the owner.) One extremely intelligent woman always crosses the road, so no one will breathe on her, but that is understandable, since several folks begin panting heavily after walking uphill. I do so look forward to seeing these neighbors, because it’s nice to have something positive to look forward to during these COVID-19 days.

To re-enter the building, we all have to ring the lobby doorbell, and unless he’s in the bathroom, the guard lets us in. Then he thumps everyone on the head with a thermometer and sends us on our way. Later in the morning, someone from the concierge desk will call to inquire about my health. Other than driving my car for 30 minutes once a week, I have not been anywhere since March 15th. However, I get additional exercise in the community pool (one person at a time) for 45 minutes a day.  I am getting used to having it all to myself and kind of like that. I do Yoga in my living room. Also, I was happy to dance along with Gene Kelly.  He was in the rain, and I was in my kitchen.

I have also found other creative outlets, but more about that later.  In the meantime, it’s a good idea to count your blessings. I do that everyday, and many of you are among mine.  Be well.  Keep laughing, and remember that life is truly ridiculous.

Esther Blumenfeld