DO YOUR BEST

Wherever there’s a skill, there seems to be a competition for those who want to be recognized as the best at what they do.  There are contests in dance, voice, spelling, and even beauty, although I don’t think those contestants, in bathing suits, need as much skill as chess players.

A few years ago, I received a competition VHS tape from my window washer, Lou Bright. He is a member of the International Window Cleaning Association, and won a medal in the International Window Cleaning Contest. As a finalist, he had competed in three divisions: Speed, Skill and a Nine-Widow-Panel Obstacle Course.

The Obstacle Course is judged on accuracy and is very subjective like figure skating in the Olympics. A one-half point is taken off for every mistake. As I watched the tape, I saw the judges sitting directly on the other side of the windows. The contestants’ tools were: water, squeegees, and towels. 

The first was a Speed Contest and the judges watched closely from the other side of the three panel window, as some of the competitors squeegeed from top to bottom and others from bottom to top, knocking off water in record speed. A short speedy Frenchman won in no time flat.

The next contest was for skill. The judges placed their noses close to the glass, intently staring out, while on the other side, combatants duked it out one-by-one aiming for accuracy. No drip could show up in this contest (water not person). And, as each contestant finished, the judges disdainfully pointed out little spots of water to the disappointed washer. The last contest, an Obstacle Course, involved a nine-pane trick window with a recessed frame.

IWCA was established in 1989 by a group of window cleaners from Lubbock, Texas who determined there should be a voice for those working in the industry.   Allied with OSHA, the Association provides members with safety information. Now hundreds of window cleaners from around the world convene at the International Window Cleaning Association Convention and Trade Show.

In 2008, window washing attracted the attention of the Mechanical Engineering Department at Michigan State University. A team of students competed against schools from all over the world---including Carnegie Mellon, Hong Kong Polytechnic, and Colorado State. They won with their window-washing robot called “Winboni,” a tiny square robot that runs on AA batteries and attaches itself to a window with a suction fan. It moves across the window with powered wheels and scrubs it clean with felt pads.

When he won his medal, my friend. Lou Bright thanked his customers and his wife and dedicated his medal to his father, who had always encouraged him to “Be the best at what you do.” Lou is the best at what he does.  He is a happy man who enjoys his work.  It allows him time to ski in the winter, and he had the privilege of washing a window at the Eiffel Tower in Paris.  How many people can say any of that?

Esther Blumenfeld (“Be good at something. It makes you valuable.”) Randy Pausch

UP, UP AND AWAY--MAYBE

A couple of weeks ago, I was treated for  a visit from my son, Josh and my daughter-in-law, Barbara.  They flew in from Washington, DC to Phoenix, rented a car, and drove to Tucson—arriving just in time for dinner in one of the restaurants at my Senior Residence. In two days, we packed in a lot of fun, as well as selling my 21-year-old Saturn—a decision I had made before their arrival.  

Happily, the weather co-operated on the day they left, and they had no problem arriving at the Phoenix Airport.  They returned the car, and boarded the plane that was scheduled to leave on time at 3 pm.  The pilot announced readiness for take-off, and the flight attendant showed everyone ( who had never ridden in an automobile) how to fasten their seat belts.  

Then, suddenly A TRUCK HIT THE AIRPLANE!  Engines off! Seatbelts unbuckled!  Whereupon,  the pilot announced that there would be a delay, and an inspection of the plane, before takeoff.
So, the pilots left the cockpit, and after 40 minutes, announced that soon a maintenance crew would arrive and advise if the damage could be repaired.  I assume they meant to the plane and not the truck, which was now identified as a food truck—speedy delivery but that guy gets NO TIP!

After another 40 minutes, it was announced that the passengers would have to deplane, and those on their way to Dulles Airport would board another plane. Those with other
connections—Well, lots of luck with that!

So, Josh and Barbara waited and waited and waited until another plane was available, and finally they boarded their new flight to Washington, DC. Unfortunately, the crew on that plane had reached their legal flight limit, and another crew needed to be found to fly to Dulles Airport.

Unfortunately, the Phoenix Airport doesn’t have lots of substitute flight crews hanging around waiting for a truck to hit an airplane, so it took lots and lots more time to hire them from Central Casting.  Josh said that they really looked like pilots when they boarded the plane.

Okay, so only one more problem.  Before they could take to the sky, food had to be delivered—
not so much for the passengers, but for the pilots who couldn’t fly on empty stomachs, and, of course, the food was on the truck that hit the other plane, and by now it was inedible.

Happily, since Josh and Barbara flew First Class they did get dibs on two snack boxes.
The plane finally took off, and Josh and Barbara arrived home at 3 am.  which was very interesting since they were supposed to leave Phoenix at 3 pm.  But then, of course, there is a two-hour time difference which didn’t help at all!

So, here’s the rest of the story. The two travelers had to wake up at 6 am in order to go to the KITTY HOTEL to pick up their two vacationing kittens, who were very well rested and ready to play.  

My favorite reaction to this story was when I told a neighbor  about the truck hitting the plane, and he asked, “Were they in the air?”  I looked at him and said, “Do you mean the truck or the plane?”

Esther Blumenfel

WAIT A MINUTE

Samuel Beckett wrote a play called, WAITING FOR GODOT. For two acts the audience watches two men sitting on bench waiting for a mysterious figure named Godot—who just never shows up. If you are brave enough to see this play more than once (spoiler alert) know that Godot still won’t show up.

Patience can be a test, which I recently discovered, when I was stuck in an elevator that usually takes me to my apartment.  I had gone grocery shopping,  arrived at my floor, entered my apartment, put the grocery bags (and my purse) on the kitchen counter, and went back to the elevator to ride down again in order to put my little shopping cart back into the car. 

Then I came back, pushed the elevator button, got onto the elevator and rode up to my floor. But when I arrived—-the elevator doors refused to open. My cell phone was in my purse.  Consequently, I pushed the “HELP BUTTON! which connects to me an elevator person in Canada.  I told her that I was stuck, and asked her to call people at the Concierge Desk, and I gave her the number.  She said she would do that but first told me to push all the button and hold one of the buttons.  I pushed and then kept pushing the HELP BUTTON so maybe someone in the building would hear it.  

Then I remembered that someone once said, “The beauty of waiting is the anticipation of what’s to come.  I anticipated that the ice cream  on my counter was melting.  Finally, I heard voices on the other side of the elevator. Yes, patience can be a test!  After 20 minutes, standing in a metal box, I got off.  And, the brilliant Concierge person said, “Did you push all the buttons?”  I counted to ten before responding, “Do you think I am a moron?” She is still thinking about that.

Mark Twain said, “All good things arrive unto them that wait—and don’t die in the meantime.”

I must admit that it’s always been hard for me to “Wait for the dust to settle,” or to “Hold your horses.”  For me, biding my time is a waste of time.  For instance:
 
 It’s hard for me to sit through a meeting that could have been sent in a simple e-mail. 
Cooling my heels is difficult when I come to the front of a  Grocery Store line, with my 6 items, and the receipt roller runs out of paper and the store manager has to show the new clerk how to replace the roll.
Being put “On Hold”  on the telephone by a robot who keeps saying “Your call is important to us” and makes me listen to torturous music that makes my blood boil.
A “Back Soon” sign posted on a store door, and I don’t know when the guy left.
And, anticipation takes on a whole new meaning when a waiter says, “I’ll be right with you.”
It should be considered an Olympic sport waiting in line to receive a Driver’s License.

It is probably a healthy thing to stay calm when under duress.  Consequently,  I swear I am going to try to be more like Margaret Thatcher when she said, “I am extraordinarily patient provided I get my own way in the end!”

Esther Blumenfeld 

PACK IT IN

Spinner wheels on suitcases have made schlepping  stuff through airports much easier. However, deciding on what to put into those suitcases is always a conundrum. Of course, it’s wise to travel light, but being a high-anxious person, I’ve never mastered that skill. My angst is often weather related. Is it going to be Hot? Cold? Rain? Blizzard? Tornado? Tsunami? I really should be prepared for everything. 

I have friends who can pack for a trip in ten minutes. The only justification I can rationalize for this deftness is if the contractions are two minutes apart. 

As hard as I try to be reasonable, I always manage to over-pack. Other people may stow away a couple of band-aids and a bottle of aspirin, while I will always be prepared to perform minor surgery.

I learned the hard way to pack more than one pair of slacks when in Spain; a waiter spilled a bottle of red wine all over my white slacks. I don’t speak Spanish all that well, but while trying to replace my dripping red slacks at a little roadside shop, I think I told clerk that I had been gored by the bulls in Pamplona. 

Not trusting baggage handlers, I always pack a back-up carry-on with extra shoes and clothes. I worry that my suitcase could mistakenly end up in Kenya or Canada.  And, Yes, the satchel is too heavy for me to hoist into the overhead on a plane. The trick is to block the passenger aisle, and play the “old lady” card until some gullible fellow will help me out (lift the case not toss me out of the plane.) I never forget to pack my camera. I have scrapbooks filled with photos of places where I wasn’t supposed to take pictures, but that’s a story for another time.

Gangsters pack “heat,” but with security the way it is these days, I don’t pack anything more dangerous than a peanut butter sandwich. However, I am considerate enough to always ask my seatmate if he has an EpiPen on him before unpacking my lunch.

Packing is truly an art.  Gracie Gold said, “If I were packing for a deserted island, I would bring sunscreen, a water purifier, something to start a fire with, my sister and something for protection.” 

I’m not sure if that was “for” or “from” the sister.

Esther Blumenfeld (Good idea to pack a lime just in case there’s scurvy going around.)

URBAN CHICKENS

URBAN CHICKENS

The first experience I had with in-town chickens was when I was a little girl in South Dakota.  Chickens roamed freely in our neighbor’s backyard, and I enjoyed sitting in our tree watching her chase after them.  It was great sport, until the day she caught one of them by the neck, swung it up into the air, and ended up with the chicken’s head in her hand. The cluck less bird dropped to the ground, and kept right on running. That was the last time I played “Chicken Watcher” or read  
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 

When my husband was in kindergarten, his neighbors kept chicken coops in their backyard, and he invited his whole class to come to his house for milk, cookies and chicken viewing.  Unfortunately, he had failed to tell his mother or the neighbors that they were coming. That was the last time he threw a surprise party.

In 2015, with a unanimous vote, the Tucson City Council approved an urban agriculture amendment, allowing, backyard, food-producing animals at a residence. This involves using “animal units.” A chicken will count as one unit, and a turkey as four units. No male fowl are allowed, which takes the cock out of 
a-doodle-doo. Backyard coops have to be at least 20 feet from a neighbor’s house. One council member raised concerns about noise level regarding geese.

My brother’s house in Florida is next to a beautiful pond. When he moved in, he thought the wild geese were charming, and he enjoyed feeding them the first day. The next day, he didn’t think they were so cute when he had to shovel his car out from under goose poop.

It used to be that in Arizona people could own all kinds of animals except great apes. However, there were no laws preventing those primates from getting voted into the Arizona Legislature. 

Now, if you own a Desert Tortoise, you can be fined for letting them reproduce in captivity. If you own a male and female, you are required to keep them separated, because when they go at it, there is no stopping them. Remember the story about the Tortoise and the Hare? The Tortoise never gave up and the Hare stopped to rest.  So, who gave bunnies that bad reputation?

If someone in my Senior Residence got some rooster-less chickens, it might not be so bad, because by now I’ve gotten used to having a cluck or two in the neighborhood. 

Esther Blumenfeld (“I did not become a vegetarian for my health, I did it for the health of the chickens.)  Isaac Bashevis Singer