ICARUS HAD IT WORSE

When I was a little girl, my Father didn’t earn enough money for many extras, but occasionally he did treat Mother and me to an afternoon movie matinee. In those days, going to the movies meant seeing a double feature. The first movie was family fare such as Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney dancing and singing their way across the screen. However, the second feature was invariably a shoot-em-up Western or a Gangster movie.

One afternoon, the second show was LADY SCARFACE. I took one look at the woman’s face, climbed into my Father’s lap, and spent the rest of the movie staring at the people sitting behind us. I had forgotten the movie until I was recently confronted with Basal and Mohs. No, it’s not a law firm. Neither is Basal, Curly and Mohs a famous comedy team.

But let me back up——

Tucson has 350 days of sunshine a year. Thus, it is important to lather oneself with sunscreen and wear a big hat (unless you are in the house). It is also a must do to visit a dermatologist once a year, because being overly sun-kissed can become problematic. All went well as my dermatologist perused my aging skin, until she put her nose on my nose and said, “You have two basal cells on your cheek under your left eye.” Then, holding up a mirror she said, “See!” Nope, I didn’t see anything, but then I never went to medical school either.

Before I could say, “How in the world did you spot those things?” she had taken samples for a biopsy and sent me on my way—cheerfully saying—“I think they are malignant, but because they are on your face, under your eye, I will refer you to a Dermatologic Surgeon who specializes in Mohs.” I found out that is not a dance team either.

Her diagnosis was correct, but when the Surgeon heard that I was coming, she left for an extended vacation. Three weeks later, I met the doctor, and she scheduled me for early morning surgery the following week. Her assistant told me that the surgery could take from 2 to 5 hours. I said, “What is she going to do—pull them out of my ears?” (I didn’t say ears). “No, No,” the nurse said, “The surgery takes around 15 minutes, but the analysis of the tissue takes 45 minutes, and the procedure may need to be repeated until only healthy tissue remains.” Then she added, “You might want to bring lunch.”

The day of surgery, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. with a back spasm, that took my mind off of my face altogether. I arrived at 7:45 a.m. and was immediately ushered into the operating room, placed into a reclining chair, with pillows under my back and knees (Yes, I did whine a bit about my back) and then my eyes were taped shut and covered. To this day, I don’t know who did the surgery, but she sounded very nice. After, the procedure was repeated for the third time, only healthy tissue remained, and I was free to drive home with a compression bandage on my 15 tiny stitches.

The next day,  I changed the dressing, looked into the mirror and realized that my handiwork covered too much of my face. I now resembled an Egyptian mummy, and I wasn’t sure I had covered the scar. So, I went back to the doctor’s office for a tutorial on how to change a dressing. I was told that the surgery was successful and that the scar will fade.

That is a relief, because  the actress, Judith  Anderson got paid to scare little children. I certainly don’t want to do it for free.

 And, Yes, my back is all better, but that’s another story.

Esther Blumenfeld (Dedicated to Dr. Frederic Edward Mohs)

EVERYBODY IS SOMEBODY

When crossing the street in New York City, I feel much safer surrounded by a band of strangers. When we get to the other side of the street, we pedestrians will separate and go our own way, Chances are, that I will never see any of these people again. But, for a moment, their presence, amidst the traffic, was comforting.

My son, Josh lived in New York for a few years, and he cautioned me not to speak to strangers. He said, “Don’t even make eye-contact with them.” There was an article in the New York Times about a man who died while riding the subway. He rode for 45 minutes before anyone noticed. That involved no friendly words and no eye contact.

Strangers on airplanes have often shared secrets and life stories with me—even when I have an open book in my lap. They know they are safe, because chances are that they will never see me again. They know that they don’t have to pretend, and can be exactly who they are.
The thing is, that a person is a stranger, because you don’t know him yet, but once introduced you really aren’t strangers anymore.

My mother-in-law had a friend who was waiting for her plane in the Chicago O’Hare Airport. She began to chat with a lovely young woman sitting next to her. Their plane had been delayed, so they were able to talk for some time. My mother-in-law’s friend really took a liking to this personable young woman. So, she said, “My son lives in Chicago. Would you mind if I gave him your name and phone number?” The young woman said that it would be okay with her. A year later, this lovely stranger became her daughter-in-law.

Parents will caution, “Don’t open the door to strangers.” That is good advice, but nowadays the internet indiscriminately invites all kinds of strangers into our homes.

My Aunt Ruth spoke to everyone. No one was a stranger in her life. One Sunday morning she took a walk in her neighborhood and noticed a  a very large, rather homely woman at the bus stop. The woman was  dressed for church. Aunt Ruth said, “You look so nice.”  At that, the big woman, with tears in her eyes,  gave Aunt Ruth a bone-crushing hug and replied, “Thank you! I have had a very bad week, and you made my day!”

At the moment when bad news turns our world upside down, we are all strangers in a strange land, and a smile or kind word from another person can be life affirming.

I like familiar strangers such as the people who work in all of the stores I frequent. I don’t know their names, but we recognize each other and exchange pleasantries. Sometimes, that is enough to turn a ho-hum day into something memorable.

One Monday afternoon, I went to a really early bird matinee. I was the only person in the theatre. The lights were dimming when a woman and her young daughter entered the theatre. I said, “Sorry, this is a private showing,” and they turned around and started to leave the theatre. Then they stopped, turned around again and we all burst out laughing.

I like making people laugh—even strangers.

One evening, five friends and I were having dinner in a restaurant. We talked and laughed and had a really good time. When we left the restaurant, everyone went to their own cars. My friend, Paula and I were headed to her car when another car, filled with strangers, pulled up next to us. A woman pulled down her window and said, “We were at the same restaurant and noticed that all of you were having such a good time. Are you related?” I poked Paula and said, “Yes, She and I are sisters.”  “Are you also related to the others?” asked the woman.  “Yes,” I said, “We are all distant cousins.” She drove off, so pleased to learn that we were one big happy family.

So, where’s the harm? For a moment, we weren’t strangers, and the world was a much better place.

Esther Blumenfeld

SO SORRY

No one likes to apologize, because it is an admission that you have said or done something unacceptable. An apology is also an acknowledgment that you are less than perfect, just like the rest of us. There are all kinds of apologies—-those given from the heart, the half-hearted, and the dim-witted ones. “Better late than never,” does not apply for an apology given to a dead person.

Hugh Kingsmill said, “Friends are God’s apology for relations.” A good friend should accept your apology knowing that you would never intentionally say or do anything hurtful. It is always worthwhile to examine the source of the, “I’m sorry!”

I am always willing to accept someone’s apology, but I also know that my response should fit the “My bad.” For instance, when a worker doesn’t show up at your house when expected, his apology is usually a lament over his wretched truck. A tweak to the ego may be appropriate saying, “I am so disappointed, I thought you could fix anything.”

Some people apologize in a way that makes you feel that their mistake is  really your fault such as, “My dog won’t bite. Oh, he’s never done that before!” Then there is the “Schadenfreude” (sad/happy) apology. “Oh, I am so sorry that your team lost, and mine won, but after all, it’s only a game.”

It’s always fun too look for the little correction box in the local newspaper, where the editor expresses regret for a printed error. For instance, “We inadvertently printed the name, ‘Bootsie, the Stripper’ under the photo of Reverend Mabel, of the Sacred Memories Church.”’

It makes absolutely no sense to remain upset after a sincere apology. Why waste 60 seconds on anger when you can have 60 more seconds of happiness in your life? However, on the flip side, if your apology is not accepted by someone, who enjoys holding a grudge, I suggest you let them wallow and move on.


Realizing that an apology is a good way to have the last word, I often, just can’t help myself.
After a Presidential election, I was sitting at the Community Pool, when four neighbors entered the pool area and sat at an adjoining table. They were disgruntled and complained to each other about the results of the election. Finally, one of my neighbors, turned to me and apologized. She said, “Oh, I am so sorry!  I hope we didn’t offend you.” And, I responded,
“Not at all. My guy won!”

My favorite apology came from the Crystal Cruise Line. I received a call, and the person on the other end of the line said, “I apologize profusely. We double booked your cabin. Would you and your husband consider a penthouse cabin at the same price?” I replied, “Hang on, I will ask him.” I counted 1,2,3,4,5, picked up the phone, and said, “Yes, that will be acceptable. No harm done!”

After the cruise, I considered that instead of  taking my clothes home, I should pack the Butler.

It is very difficult, for me, when in a discussion, a person is not fact driven, but rather faith driven. In other words, “I don’t care about the facts, they are not true, because I don’t believe they are.” So, recently, in one of my classes, when discussing scientific research about climate change, the industrial revolution, the burning of fossil fuels, and the destruction of vast forest areas,  one of the participants said,  “I don’t agree with what all of these scientists are saying.”  Essentially, he was denying scientific evidence. So, uncontrollably, I blunted out—YOU ARE WRONG!  And, immediately, I was sorry. The words had just popped out of my mouth.

So, later, I apologized to him, in front of the class. But, here’s what I said:  “I’m so sorry that I said “You are wrong, because you just might be right.” Whereupon, he replied, “And I just might be wrong.”  

Bingo!

Esther Blumenfeld (“I apologize when I’m wrong.”) Donald Trump

THE BIRTH OF AN IDEA

When my pencil rolled off the desk and followed me out of the room, I knew that I had procrastinated enough, and that it was time to sit down and finally write that story I have been mulling over. However, first I needed to take a hike in the mountains. Up and down the mountain paths is such good cardio-vascular exercise. How could I miss that!

When I came home, I noticed some weeds in my front yard. Those weeds could be killer weeds, and definitely had to come out! When I finally opened the front door, a hornet accompanied me into the house. So, after trapping it behind a window shutter, I got out my central vacuum hose and permanently grounded the critter.

While returning the hose to my bedroom closet, I realized that it’s been a very long time since I vacuumed under the bed, so I got down on my hands and knees, and did the dust bunny hop.

That was a bit tiring, so I decided to make a relaxing cup of herbal tea, and while waiting for the water to boil, it was an opportune moment to check my e-mails.  Oops! my computer notified me that an out-of-town friend was celebrating her birthday, so I got my tea and called to sing her a birthday song, and have a little chat, before sitting at my desk to begin developing the idea for my story.

I found a writing tablet and sharpened my pencil.  “Yes”, I still write my first draft by hand. Then I had to sharpen my pencil again. Those points always break before I get to the point.

Oh, I promised a neighbor that I’d bake a banana bread for her party. It didn’t take that long to beat it up and stick it into the oven. While waiting for the cake to bake, I took a book of poetry off the bookshelf, read one poem. Then, I said to myself, “Boy, Am I glad that I didn’t write that!” Not because I didn’t understand it—-but because I did!

So, I could write a story about how writers avoid writing, because it’s hard work—-Or—-I could wash the garage floor.

Esther Blumenfeld

VINTAGE WHINE

Ponce de Leon searched for the legendary fountain of youth. It was supposedly located in a land called Bimini. He never found it. Today, some people are flocking to Queens, New York enticed by the prospect of living longer.

Dr. Alan Green has no fountain of youth, but he does prescribe two off-label drugs that he claims could possibly delay aging. George Burns said, “If you live to the age of 100 years, you have it made, because very few people die past the age of 100.”

Although there’s little evidence that healthy people can benefit from his anti-aging remedies, Dr. Green (who is 76—going on 77) has taken the drugs for three years. The last doctor who experimented on himself was a Dr. Jekyll. As I remember, he developed a split personality and grew lots of hair after dark.

I don’t know why some people consider aging as some kind of disease. Admittedly, although it’s not contagious, everyone seems to get it.  I’m not sure that aging really matters unless you are a rare cheese.

In 2019 it is claimed that “80 is the new 60.” Pooh! 80 is 80 no matter how you cut it, and no magic pill will turn back the calendar. Plastic surgeons can help a person defy gravity, and fancy face creams will lighten your wallet. To be extremely thin, a green kale shake for breakfast can make you nauseous enough to avoid further calories, but no matter what, with each passing day, we are all going to get older.

People say to me, “You don’t look like 82.” What is 82 supposed to look like? I don’t know because I’ve never done it before. And, right now I am working on 83.  Too many people put so much effort in trying to turn the clock back, that they forget to enjoy today.

Woody Allen said it so well, “You can live to be a 100 if you give up all the things that make you want to be 100.” We know that yesterday is gone, and even with a lot of planning we don’t know much about tomorrow, but we do know that today gives us the opportunity to plan to live as well as possible—to make the most of what we have with a positive attitude.

You don’t have to go into space as John Glenn did when he discovered, “For all the advances in medicine, there is still no cure for the common birthday.”

Might as well enjoy life while we can!

Esther Blumenfeld