WHO'S THAT MASKED MAN?

In his play, “Six Degrees of Separation,” John Guare tells us that everyone in the world, is, in some way, touched by everyone else, and all people are six social connections from each
other—- friend of a friend. Also, T.S. Elliott reminded us years ago, to, “Prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.”

However, in these COVID-19 days, since everyone is masked, we only have to prepare the upper half, and since my bangs are hanging over my eyebrows, a drop of artificial tears in each eye is the extent of my preparation.

Six degrees of separation has become literal rather that literary, and reading facial expressions is impossible. Pity the poor bank tellers, when a masked man, wearing rubber gloves, approaches them and mumbles something about money.

Granted, that in the good old days, sometimes it was really hard to communicate with some people, especially if what they were saying made no sense at all, but at least you could see if their lips were moving. Now, when the mask goes on, you have no idea if the other person is smiling, and half the time what they are saying is muffled, since they are whispering from six feet away. In that case it’s good to assume that you have missed nothing at all.

If this pandemic had happened in 1503, Leonardo da Vinci would have gone nuts! It took him 16 years, nearly until his death, to finally capture Mona Lisa’s smile. When you look at that smile, you ask yourself,”What is she thinking?” His model, Lisa del Giocondo was  probably thinking, “Hey, Leo, Why is it taking you so long?” But, that’s another story.

In 2020, we have to accept that “Losing Face” has taken on a whole new meaning. I guess for awhile now the eyes have it—-a friendly wink will have to suffice.  However, if you see someone’s eyes crossed, the mask might just be a modicum too tight. In that case, I advise, LOOSEN UP!  This too will pass.

Esther Blumenfeld

STAY AWAY

When you come right down to it, all of this social distancing isn’t really such a bad thing.  As a matter of fact, with a few folks, six feet away from me isn’t nearly far enough. For instance, a former neighbor, who, after downing several martinis, would always say to me, “You never let me hug you,” and I would always reply to him, “You are absolutely right.”
Usually, I like being with people, but New Yorking my way through a crowd is not my idea of fun, although recently, my elbow has become my new best friend.

I live in a senior residence and my neighbors and I have been asked to “shelter in place.” That means no leaving the premises other than for doctor appointments. Groceries are delivered, meals are ordered by phone and are left at apartment doors, and all activities have been transferred to our television screens. As a matter of fact, I just finished doing Yoga in my living room. This afternoon, I will watch a movie and tonight a Broadway musical. So what’s with the elbow?

Every morning I take the elevator to the main floor, so I can leave for my daily walk around the property. Three times around is about 2 miles. In order to push the elevator button, I use my elbow, and then I elbow swipe the door exit button. Then I  get some foam from the Purell machine, and wipe off my elbow. Exit means you can get out any door, but you can’t get back in since all codes have been disabled. There is only one main entrance where I yell into a microphone, “I am here.” Then I am let into the front  entrance, and someone from the concierge desk meets me, and hits me on the forehead with a thermometer. So far, I have not used my elbow in retaliation.

Outdoor walks are my salvation because the weather is nice, the property is beautiful, and I assume that my neighbors who shout at me from their balconies are shouting nice things. Occasionally, I meet another walking neighbor, and we kind of chat from a distance. At least I can get close enough to pet their dogs.

These days, my television set is my second best friend. Yesterday, I watched a cooking competition from England, and a documentary called “Bathtubs Over Broadway.” It’s about Industrial Musicals made for sales meetings in the 1950’s, 60’s and 70’s. By the time I turned off the set, I could have flown to Washington, DC with a stop-over in Dallas.

It has been five weeks and three bottles of wine so far.  I am doing great! I am remaining positive and hopeful that soon brilliant minds out there (not in Washington, DC) will find a solution for this terrible pandemic. I have called everyone in my rolodex and most of them knew who I am. I pray that soon I will be able to stand a little closer to my friends, and that the airlines will be required to remove their middle seats.

Esther Blumenfeld

WHERE'S THE PONY?

A man saw a young boy shoveling manure. He said, “Boy! Why are you doing that?” The boy cheerfully answered, “There’s got to be a pony in there somewhere!”

Because of the Coronavirus, my son, Josh, and daughter-in-law, Barbara are working from home. They also had to cancel their plans for Barbara’s birthday celebration at The Inn in Little Washington. So, creatively, they took a “weekend vacation” in their own home. They moved across the house into the guest room, and their cat, Radar moved in with them. It was like a Bed and Breakfast except Radar was the only one with room service.

Notwithstanding the seriousness of COVID-19, there are still some positive outcomes, such as the reduction of pollution in major cities due to self isolation. According to CNN News, “environmental scientists are estimating that the improvement in air quality could save as many as 75,000 people from dying prematurely.” —-especially if they don’t drive anywhere.

Pollution is not a major problem in Tucson, Arizona where I live, but I am sure that fewer pedestrians are being run over since there are fewer cars on the sidewalks. Oh, Yes, the drivers in my town are very creative, and tourists are fair game, but obviously  auto fatalities are also way down.

Being in this situation together should lead to acts of kindness unless you are out of toilet paper. There was a photo of three women in Phoenix, Arizona smacking each other around, in a store, over a package of toilet paper. This was most inappropriate, because they weren’t following the CDC guidelines to stay 10-feet apart.

Even though gun stores have run out of merchandise all over the Country, people seem to be waiting to shoot each other until the emergency is over, but maybe that’s because gun shop owners are warning them that there will be no more ammunition available for at least six months. Unfortunately, manufacturers can’t meet the demand fast enough. Oh,Shoot!

In Italy, people are singing songs and playing music together from their balconies. As long as the wine holds out, they should be fine. After all, didn’t Nero fiddle while Rome burned. That’s the Italian way.

According to Johns Hopkins University, as of March 24, 2020, more than 100,000 people have already recovered from COVID-19, which is remarkable since few test kits are available, but who am I to question these positive statistics.

I am convinced that the American people will come out of this pandemic smarter, kinder and really, really ready to shop which will certainly improve our economy. In the meantime, I also suspect that 9 months from now the birthrate will go up, and if the Mamas and Papas are mindful people, they will have washed their hands before and after, even though they didn’t stay 10-feet apart.

Keep laughing, and stay well!

Esther Blumenfeld

LOTS TO DO

Boredom has never been part of my DNA. Even in these restricted coronavirus times, I can always find something to do—other than getting into my car, driving to a store and bringing back a bag filled with viruses to distribute to my neighbors.  Consequently, I am staying in my apartment, and doing a daily walk-about in my beautiful neighborhood.

However, this morning, while examining two overly ripe bananas, I got an insatiable desire to bake banana bread. I waited for ten minutes for the feeling to go away, but it did not, so I proceeded to take the stored pots and pans out of my oven allowing it to do what it was intended to do—Bake something!

Then, I stood and stared at the oven dashboard. There are no dials. All of the appliances in my apartment are state-of-the-art and this dashboard was probably adapted from the dashboard in a 747 airplane. In order to turn the heat on, you place your finger on the area that says, “Bake.” I figured I can do that. Then nothing happened. I stared at the oven and said, “Well, start baking.”  That didn’t help. Then I put my finger on “Cook Time.” It lit up and I pressed 375. Miracle of miracles, the numbers began to advance from low to high and stopped at 375. By then, the cake was ready to go into the oven. I was too intimidated to press the “Timer.” I figured, I could time the bake time on my trusty wristwatch. However, I did press  “Oven Light,” and my cake pan was lit up.

So far, so good. My cake was finished, and I touched “Off.” The oven heat went off, but the oven light stayed on.  I kept pushing “Off.” Then I got out the instruction book. My husband used to say, “When all else fails, follow the instructions.” The book gave instructions what to do if the light does not go on, but even in Chinese, I am sure that nothing was advised about if the light does not go off.

The oven was cool. The light remained on. I called the apartment maintenance department, and luckily one of the good guys was in the apartment next to mine, so he came right over. He opened the oven door,   slammed it shut and it was obvious that when he touched “Off” he had scared the light to death. Now I know that slamming is the modus operandi.

Feeling unusually brave, I turned my refrigerator ice-maker back on. I’m not sure if it will work the way it is supposed to, because the last time it was on, the cubes enthusiastically overflowed and filled the bottom of my freezer compartment.

Also, I am not sure if the dishwasher is supposed to take 2 1/2 hours to clean the dishes, but they come out clean, and I figure,”What’s the hurry? I am retired.”

I learned quickly not to overload the washing machine. The dryer is sitting right on top of it. The first time I overloaded the washing machine, it shook and rattled and I thought that both the washer and drier would shake themselves out of the closet and chase me around the room.

Nope! It’s not boring around here—-not boring at all!

Esther Blumenfeld

LEFT BEHIND

These days, people who subscribe to newspapers feel very superior to those loony-tunes who desperately drive from store to store looking for toilet paper. Even A-I can’t help. It only goes to prove that during urgent times, on-line shopping is no substitute for the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Stockpiling toilet paper, because of the coronavirus, makes no sense, since the only diarrhea connected to the disease is the verbal kind coming out of politicians mouths.

So, just for fun, I decided to look on the shelves at Target to see what people left behind. I wandered over to the soap section, and a sign was posted, “Only one soap product to a customer.” Most of the soaps were gone, but I noticed that body washes were still available. After all, the CDC instructed us to wash our hands—not our entire bodies. So, what body washes were left?

If I had purchased the first body wash, I could,”Smell Like Rain.” I’m not sure what rain smells like, but when it rains in Tucson, Arizona, the place smells like Creosote bushes. I don’t want a “Musky,Earthy Smell,” that helps my body preserve water. The  Spanish name for Creosote is “Hediondilla” which loosely translates into “little stinker.”

The next bottle of body wash was a “Limited Edition of Ocean Drift.” I figured it was probably limited because the oceans are drifting around filled with plastic waste, and I don’t want to smell like I’ve been recycled.

Then there was the “Flower Child Fragrance.” For those of you who remember the unwashed bodies of the Woodstock Generation—NO THANK YOU!  

Nor, did I want to smell like the next bottle that had a “Sea Kelp Fragrance.” I remember swimming in the ocean in Florida and getting that stuff tangled around my feet. I guess that would be a great body wash for people who enjoy smelling like dead fish.

Finally, I bought a bottle of “Vitality Shower Gel.” I don’t know what it smells like, but I hope that it will give me the survival capacity that I need—-if I run out of toilet paper.
Esther Blumenfeld