A GOOD DAY

Last night I dreamed that I was packing a suitcase in order to move back into my house.

WHAT A NIGHTMARE!

I am sure that I would hate to move in with that young couple who bought my house, and share a bathroom with their two rambunctious sons. I’d especially find it daunting to deal with their two dogs.  I understand that one of them is a biter. Don’t know if it’s one of the dogs or one of the kids. Not having either the responsibility, nor the unexpected expenses, of a house is a
relief—especially in these COVID-19 days.

I am happily ensconced in my new senior residence, and like everyone who lives and works here. Maybe being six feet apart from people is what gives me that warm and fuzzy feeling, although, by now,  I am able to recognize the top-half of almost everyone’s face. Other than taking my car out for a spin once a week, walking two miles on the paths around the buildings daily, and doing aerobic exercises in the pool (one person at a time in the pool) I have not left the premises since March 15.

Right now, my major concern is that all of the elevators have a 4000 lb. limit. I have to stop eating so much! The menu is varied, and, although the five restaurants are closed, most of the time, the dinners delivered to my apartment are delicious except for an occasional surprise that doesn’t resemble its description. Not being a finicky eater, I eat it anyway. This brings back a nostalgic memory of my college years at the University of Michigan, when, one evening, all the students in the dining room marched out in protest of the “mystery meat,” that, even coagulated white sauce, could not disguise. It looked more like a chemistry experiment than a dinner. I ate it anyway, and never did grow fangs or hair on my knuckles. But, I always did blame that meal on my poor grade in Geology.

After sixty years of cooking, I take great pleasure in having my dinners prepared for me. I could also order breakfast and lunch, but if I did that, I’d end up looking like a bowling ball, and they’d have to roll me out of my apartment when this epidemic is finally held at bay.

In the meantime, it is predicted that as many as 80% of all restaurants in the country will go out of business. It is hard to chew while wearing a mask. However, I am optimistic that eventually new establishments will rise out of the rubble and prosper—just like they did after the great flood in New Orleans.

Americans are a resilient, creative bunch of people, and although it took two years after the pandemic of 1918, the country did bounce back, and until recently, no one even talked about that terrible epidemic.

So, here’s some good advice from my friend Fay who always says,; “Attitude is everything!” Right now, wearing masks in public seems like a rather primitive way to protect ourselves, and others, from a killer disease, but it does seem to work. So, if you follow that rule, and distance from people, and you are a healthy person today—it’s a good thing!

A good day, in a bad year, is always a very, very good day!

Esther Blumenfeld

TELL A TALE

Has anyone ever said to you, “Tell the story about—“and then she gives away the punchline?
Of course, the logical answer to her request is, “You just did!   Story telling is a creative art form, just like a classic piece of literature, art or music. It is important that a  humorous story be told well, and classic funny stories can be told over and over again, because they pass the test of time.

Good story tellers know how to manipulate a conversation toward a place where the story seems to be logical.  The worst way to tell a story is to announce it, because you are challenging people to laugh. The best way is to slide it in for a humorous home run. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s worth the risk. Also, the best stories usually have an element of truth.

My Father was a gifted story teller. He and Mom retired to Florida and lived near the ocean. One of their neighbors was a doting grandmother who enjoyed taking her little grandson to the beach everyday, and my parents took much pleasure watching the child from their balcony as he played in the sand.  He always looked so cute dressed in a sunsuit, and wearing his little hat, while carrying his little pail and shovel.

One day a storm suddenly blew in. The child was playing too close to the water, and a big wave washed him out to sea.  The Grandmother fell to her knees and implored God, “Please bring  my grandson back to me.  He is such a good child, such a sweet child, such a blessing!” And, like a miracle a wave came up, and deposited the child back on shore wearing his little sunsuit, and clutching his little pail and little shovel.  At that, the Grandmother fell to her knees, threw out her arms, looked to the Heavens and cried out, “He had a hat!”

First time I heard this story it was told by Zero Mostel on a TV talk show.  Lucky for me,  no one can take a copyright on a joke. The comedian, Milton Berle was famous for his files of “stolen” jokes. However, if someone steals a complete comedy routine, he could be facing a lawsuit.

I must admit that sometimes I get some of my best material just eavesdropping on other peoples’ conversations.  I figure if people are talking loud enough for me to hear them—Go for it!  And, if they are talking softly, I can always turn up my hearing aid. There seems to be good material all around me.

Four men, who live in my senior community, enjoy eating dinner together. One evening I overheard them having a one-ups-man-ship argument about which one of them had the, historically speaking, oldest profession. They are all retired—an agronomist, a doctor, an engineer and a local politician.

The agronomist said, “My work is the oldest. When God drove Adam and Eve out of Eden, he told Adam to til the soil so he may eat bread by the sweat of his brow. So, farming is the oldest profession.” The Doctor said, “Well, if you are going to go back that far, you are still wrong. In the Garden of Eden, God anesthetized Adam, and when he was asleep, took a rib from his side to make Eve. This is the oldest record of a surgical procedure.” The engineer then said, “Well, even before that, the Bible says that God separated the sky from the earth, and the sea from the land—both first rate engineering jobs.” The politician, quiet so far, finally spoke up. “Gentlemen, you are all wrong. Very early in the Bible we read,’In the beginning there was Chaos.’ Who do you think was responsible for all that Chaos?”

There you have it! Some old stories do pass the test of time.

Esther Blumenfeld

DAY OF THE MOON

Laughter makes the good times better and the bad times bearable.

My book OH, LORD IT’S MONDAY AGAIN (co-authored with Lynne Alpern) came from our humor column in  Business Atlanta Magazine.  For the column, I had written a parody on the non-existent book, “How To Lose Customers and Antagonize Them For Life.” For the bogus book, I had also made up an author named Manfred MacAbre, and a publishing house called “Flummery Press.”

The spoof book really hit a nerve, because the editors of Business Atlanta Magazine were swamped with callers asking where they could buy, “How to Lose Customers and Antagonize Them For Life.” One frantic secretary phoned and said, “I have scoured every bookstore in the city, and my boss told me not to come back to work without that book. So, to save her job, we decided to write a funny book about work titled, OH, LORD, IT’S MONDAY AGAIN.

Readers of my website, who have been with me for a long time, are already familiar with the book, but what I have never disclosed are some of the answers I gave to radio and TV interviewers when they invariably asked, “How did Monday get such a bad reputation?”  Of course the obvious answer would have been that, “Monday is the first day of the work week” but that is more of a tragic answer than a comic one.

George Burns said, “Ad Libs are always better when prepared ahead of time.”  I took this to heart, and last week while browsing through my work files, I found, hidden in back of the filing cabinet, some of the ad-libbed  answers I had prepared for interviewers so I thought it would be fun to share them with you.

HOW DID MONDAY GET SUCH A BAD REPUTATION?

“After six days of creation and one day of rest, even God had to get up on Monday morning and face what had been done.”

“It’s the second day of the week, and it will always come in second. That’s why people call it ‘Blue Monday,’ because consistently coming in second is very dismal.”

“Labor Day always falls on the first Monday in September. It is most ironic to honor working people on the day which symbolizes the last day of summer fun.”

“Historically, “Black Monday” happened on April 14, 1360, when Edward III decided to send soldiers out on a Monday during the Siege of Paris. Hundreds of troops froze to death in their saddles. It’s not even a good day for horses.”

“The idea to build the Edsel was proposed on a Monday.”

“While dusting a picture,  in his home in St Joseph, Missouri, on a Monday,  Jesse James was shot and killed by a fellow gang member. I guess that  means that you should never dust pictures on Mondays.”

Oh, Yes, “The Titanic sank on a Monday.”

And finally: “Monday morning quarterbacks always mouth off when your team has lost the game.”

I also found some other stuff in back of my filing cabinet, but will save that for another day.
In the meantime, as Queen Isabella said to Ferdinand, when Christopher Columbus asked for more doubloons, “Oh, Lord, It’s Monday Again.”

Esther Blumenfeld

THE NAKED TRUTH

When I was three-years-old, my parents took me to a public swimming pool and let me splash about in the nude. They were quickly informed that they were breaking the law, and little me needed to be in a bathing suit.  That was my first and last foray into public nudism.

A few years ago, one of my neighbors asked me if I could recommend a handyman. Of course, I did so. After he went to her home, he called me and said, “That was one Hell of a referral.” I said, “What happened?” He said, “ A lady, old enough to be my grandma, opened the door. Then she twirled around to show me her new skirt, but she was buck naked from the waist up.” I replied, “What did you do?” And he said, “I fixed her plumbing.” That was when I found out that my neighbor, and her husband, were devout nudists who vacationed to a nudist resort in Florida every winter.

What brought all this to mind was a story in the Washington Post by Craig Pittman (6/8/20) with the headline, “As Nudist Resorts Reopen, Clothes Come Off. Masks go on.”  According to the article, just like other businesses, Florida’s nudist industry was hit hard by the coronavirus pandemic, but now places like the Bare Buns Cafe allow limited seating on the patio with patrons bringing their own towels and following the six-feet apart rule.

The nudism business is a big deal in Florida. It is estimated that 2.2 million nudists visit resorts and beaches and take cruises in the all together, contributing more than seven-billion-dollars to Florida’s economy. That number is nothing to sneeze at—especially if you don’t have anywhere to put your Kleenex.  According to Pittman, “Florida has more nudist resorts than any other state with 29 registered clubs offering activities such as swimming, golf, pickle ball, tennis and volleyball.” Since resorts are now opening, and people are encouraged to wear masks, I guess the best way to recognize a naked friend is by his tattoo.

Before the concept of body shaming, Greeks and Romans played in the nude and the best athletes in the original Olympics were unencumbered by clothing. “Gymnos” (naked) was how athletes trained and competed. A Christian emperor put an end to the games in 393 AD. In the Renaissance period a reluctant Church had to accept the idea that God created man in his own image and that “He” had done a good job.

In the 16th Century the Puritans disapproved and went to New England and everybody had to cover up. In the late 18th and early 19th centuries there were no protestors with signs that said, “NAKED IS GOOD,” but Henry David Thoreau gave the American people pause when he took daily naked walks called “air baths,” and President John Quincy Adams regularly bathed nude in the Potomac River. I’d pay money to see Donald Trump do that because I have never seen anyone walk on water.

Americans in the Frontier went swimming naked in swimming holes, but they did not play pickle ball in the nude, because it hadn’t been invented yet.  The Victorian Era abhorred nakedness so much that people covered up from head to toe, and even piano legs were covered to “avoid sexual arousal.”  That reminded me of the story about the French artist, Toulouse Lautrec, when, in a gallery, a woman said to him, “That nude painting, Sir, is obscene!” and he replied, “Madame, the painting is not obscene. The obscenity is in your mind.”

So, back to the present conundrum of what to cover to stay healthy. This research  led me to University of Florida epidemiologist, Cindy Prins, who advises social distancing, and masks, for the clothed as well as the unclothed among us, and she adds, “As a greeting, I would not recommend the Butt Bump.”

And that is the Naked Truth!

Esther Blumenfeld

HI, THERE!

 Frankly, I for one, won’t mourn the demise of the handshake. I won’t miss the finger-crunching grip, or the four-finger extended limp-fish gesture, or, especially, the slobbering hand kiss. I always hated that!  I could never wait for the gentleman’s attention to wander elsewhere, so I could wipe the back of my hand on my skirt. I found it totally yucky!

Taking it one step further, I also won’t mind not being kissed on both cheeks by strangers, or enduring the California don’t-mess-my-makeup air kisses blown behind my hearing aids. So, here’s the dilemma; exactly how shall one greet people—especially if only half of your face is visible?

After researching the problem, I found out that there are many creative ways to address people, other than just saying “Hello.” Most people are already familiar with the “Elbow Bump,” that can be quite painful if someone misses your elbow. Also, taking it one step further, I must say, whoever invented the “Butt Bump” is a total idiot! The familiar “Peace Sign” is confusing, because you won’t know if someone is coming or going.

I also read that there’s a foot tap called the “Wuhan Shake.” I have never seen it. Or maybe I have seen it and mistakenly thought that someone was stepping on ants. Some people use the “Vulcan Salute” from STAR TREK. The problem is that by the time I get my fingers to cooperate, the person I want to greet is long gone.

Tipping one’s hat could work if you wear one, but miming a fist bump could get you a bloody nose, and putting your hand over your heart just might bring you an ambulance. If you have had a botox injection, raising your eyebrows is impossible, and even if you could raise them, it wouldn’t work, because no one can see if you are smiling or frowning under that mask.

Someone I know, suggested that clapping your hands, when seeing a good friend, is a nice gesture. However, if a  stranger is  coming your way, she just might turn around to look at what you are clapping at, and then run across the street to avoid you altogether.

I did find some warm and kind greetings a person can muster, that is, if you are feeling warm and kind. The Hindu “Namaste” greeting is simple. You put your palms together, under your chin, and then bow your head, but you have to be sure to eventually look up to see if the person you are greeting is still there.

The “Shake Sign” isn’t too difficult. You curl the 3 middle fingers, extend the thumb and pinky finger and shake your hand side to side.  It’s kind of like the “Vulcan” handshake except with less finger action.

Once you have selected a viable greeting, I would like to add a cautionary note: Whatever you do, NEVER ask, “How are you doing?” because you just might find out.

Esther Blumenfeld