WHATS UP? WHATS DOWN?

 These days, it’s hard to know what to believe. My son, Josh claims that he is a science writer for NASA. To enter into the building where he works, I would need security clearance. So, I can never see his office. My daughter-in-law, Barbara is an attorney. She cannot talk about her clients, and, for that reason, I never ask her questions about her work.

I can’t visit my son’s place of business, and I can’t ask questions about my daughter-in-law’s clients. They both claim that they have jobs. So, I have to take them at their word. I guess if I asked too many questions they’d have to kill me.

I have a friend whose son is a trial lawyer.  I asked her, “Have you ever gone to court to watch him in action?” “No,” she replied. “Why would I want to do that?” Then, when I asked her, “Are you sure that he’s a lawyer?” she looked at me as if I am nuts.

I say, “Give me the evidence!”

When I was a journalist, I used to call people on the phone to get statements from them. I also interviewed people in person. Some of these people were celebrities, titans in business or politicians. No one ever asked for my credentials.  I had them, but no one ever asked. In those days, people used to trust each other to tell the truth. Naturally,  sometimes, given human nature, that was a mistake, but most of the time people were pretty forthright.

Recently, we were told by our President, “Don’t believe anything you hear or anything you see.”
That is easy if you are Helen Keller. To add to the confusion, Trump will twitter something in the early morning, and then contradict himself that very evening. So, I don’t know if I’m supposed to be a morning person or an evening person.

Everybody claims that the other person is lying, and semantics are really taking a beating. For instance: Did the President “ban” a reporter from a press conference, or did he just not let her into the room? Obviously, she wasn’t in, so that means she was out. He could claim that he wasn’t “banning” her, but that he was only “barring” her from entering.  On the other hand, everyone knows that Trump never goes into a bar, so it “Never happened!” even if there were lots of witnesses.

Mark Zuckerberg, the Father of Facebook, promised to remove lies and liars, who cause harm with “fake information,”on Facebook. However, he will allow Holocaust deniers, because he figures, they don’t cause harm, because they are just ignorant about historical facts, and that they don’t know they are hurting anyone. So, letting Jew haters come out the the woodwork to incite anti-semitism with lies is okay, because they are just plain stupid. Pleading ignorance of the law won’t prevent a person from getting a traffic ticket, but fomenting lies about Jews is acceptable. Mark also claims that he is Jewish, so I guess that’s supposed to make it okay. I hope his Mommy is proud of him and that her stock keeps dropping down the rabbit hole.

We do live in crazy times. Taking babies from their Mother’s arms is okay, until it’s not and then, “Oops,” we’ve lost some of the babies. Playing footsie with dictators is lots of fun, until foot fungus becomes too much of an irritant, and playtime has to be cancelled. Truth seeking journalists are branded as “enemies of the people,” and sham universities are awarded more funds to hoodwink unsuspecting students.  

Unbelievable! Up is Down,—-and Down is Up—- and the whole world is topsy curvy.

Consequently, I think, that as a tribute to the Constitution of the United States,  our National Anthem should now become the Louis Jordan song from 1943—-
“Is you is, or Is you Ain’t, my Baby? The way you acting lately makes me doubt—“

Doubting and questioning are good! That is—unless they’re not!

Esther Blumenfeld (Tom and Jerry have my vote)

NOT ALWAYS SO SMALL

My friend, Paula, and her husband, a prominent physician and renowned Professor of Medicine, were invited to a neighbor’s home to see their new Dachshund puppies. One of the puppies was not thriving,  and their neighbor said, “She isn’t eating, and I am afraid we are going to lose her.” Whereupon, the Professor of Internal Medicine said, “Maybe, she’s allergic to her mother’s milk.”  Sure enough, his diagnosis was correct! Word about the miracle cure must have spread, because a stranger approached Paula and said, “You must be so proud to be married to a veterinarian.”

There have been studies comparing “small talk” to “meaningful conversations,” and in the past, psychologists thought that substantive conversations led to happier people, while small talk was linked to unhappiness. Tell that to the puppy, and we both say, (She barks) “Balderdash!”

Recently, researchers have found that, “small talk is not negatively related to well being.” See, I told you so! I happen to like small talk. Any comedian will tell you that one-liners are the ultimate small talk.

While getting my car serviced, I was sitting in the waiting room, and felt a drop of water on my head. I looked up and caught another drop from the ceiling air-conditioner. I reported the leak to a service person, and said,”Do you charge extra for the shower?” He replied, “No, but the towel will cost you.” That is a small talk come-back.

After a young woman on the Comcast help line straightened out my television reception problem, she said, “Is there anything else, I can help you with?” I replied, “No, but now you don’t have to be nice for the rest of the day.” That line works every time!

A friend of mine has a brother who drives a taxi cab in New York City. I think his major in college was mid-Tibetan history, and he is waiting for an opening in his field. Anyway, my friend is a writer, and his brother, the taxi cab driver, picked up a fare at a publishing house in the City. As the man got into his cab, he asked him,”Are you an editor?” “Yes,” said the man. The driver then said, “Here’s my brother’s manuscript. You are going to love it!” And, he gave it to the man as he exited the cab.

A week later, the editor had lunch with an editor from another publishing house and said, “We don’t publish funny novels, but I think it would fit your list.” My friend, the writer, got a call that his book was going to be published, and it was later made into the movie, “Doc Hollywood.”
Who needs a dissertation when small talk can accomplish that?”

My first book, OH, LORD, I SOUND JUST LIKE MAMA also got published because of the smallest talk ever. The book had been rejected by Peachtree Publishers, because they already had their featured humor writer, Lewis Grizzard. Several months later, my co-author Lynne and I were guest lecturers at a writer’s conference at Jekyll Island, GA. In the lunchroom, I spied, the editor, Chuck Perry from Peachtree Publishers, and I said to Lynne, “I’m going to go say, “Hello” to the guy who rejected us. I approached him and said, “Hi, Chuck,” and he said, “Lewis Grizzard just signed with Random House, Do you still have, OH, LORD, I SOUND JUST LIKE MAMA?” “Yes, I do,” said, I.” “ Send it to me. We can publish it now,”was his reply.

So, “Hello,Chuck” and “Yes, I do” sold 250,000 books.  That is small talk at its smallest—- and its very best!

Small talk can also be an excellent coping mechanism. Years ago, my friend, Jeanne and I went to a restaurant that featured singers. The man singing into the microphone wore an open shirt, and his gold chains kept getting entangled in his chest hair. I ignored the singer as best I could, but suddenly he came to our table, leaned close to me and said, “Baby, Do you have a request?” I responded, “Yes, I do!”  “Go Away!” That is the essence of small talk.

Small talk can also be dangerous: My parents hosted a fancy dinner party. Mother found a lonely sardine in the refrigerator, and popped it into the centerpiece on the table. Yes, that was either weird or avant garde. Never did figure that out, but back to the story.  My grandmother, suddenly reached into the centerpiece, and before anyone could stop her, she popped the sardine into her mouth—whereupon, she promptly spit it out and yelled—“Stop eating! The dinner is poisoned.”

Small talk. I love it!

Esther Blumenfeld

LEAVING AN IMPRESSION

My niece, Samara thought she was doing a good thing when she obtained the movie, ET for family enjoyment. Once her 4-year-old son, Elias realized that ET was lost and couldn’t get home, tears ran down his little face, and he said, “Mommy, I am not im-pwest  with this movie!”
In no uncertain terms he let her know how he felt.

There are times when we adults also need to let people know that we are not impressed with what they say or do. It can be difficult, but necessary, and sometimes you just have to let people know where you stand. However, there is a choice how to express ourselves. We can verbally knock  people over the head with a hammer like Trump does, or tickle someone’s conscience with a feather like Mr. Rogers used to do. But, there is also a happy compromise between hurting people’s feelings or nudging them too gently.

For instance, the road in our community is private. It was in disrepair, and we all had to chip in to have it resurfaced. One of my disgruntled neighbors said to me, “I think we should fill in the community swimming pool to save money, because I never use it.” I replied, “Well, I think we should not resurface the road in the cul-de-sac where you live, because I never drive down there.” Obviously, he was impressed enough to never repeat his idea to me again.

One day, another neighbor took it upon herself to say, “You spend too much for your yard service.”  Whereupon I replied, “I don’t care.” She seemed impressed.

And, while I was taking a stroll through the neighborhood a few months ago, another neighbor came out of his house and said, “I just put a new roof on my house. Do you want to know how much I spent?”  “No, I don’t.” I replied and kept walking. He followed me and said, “But I want to tell you.” I replied, “I really don’t want to know, but if you can’t afford to put a roof on your big, beautiful house, you might want to get a smaller one that you can afford.” I thought, “Hooray, he will never talk to me again.” Wrong! obviously, I was talking to the neighborhood masochist, and he loved it!

By now, you must know that I don’t live in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.  The worst guy is the fellow who tries to make an impression by telling offensive jokes. He will always say to me, “Can I tell you a joke?” And, I will always reply, “Please don’t. Your jokes are never funny.” Then he will ignore me, tell his joke, and say, “What do you think?” and, then, “Where are you going?” Next time, on my way out of the room, I will quote my little nephew, Elias and say, “I am definitely not im-pwest!”

Esther Blumenfeld  (“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a neighborly day in the beauty wood, Don’t you be my neighbor!”) Mr Rogers-—kind of.

EAT! DRINK! AND BE WARY!

My Mother was a beautiful woman. She had black, (naturally wavy) hair, sparkling blue eyes, a patrician nose, and pearly-white teeth that perfectly aligned in her rosebud mouth.

People used to say to me, “Oh, Your Mother is so beautiful!” And then, after a quick appraisal, they would look at me and say, “You look just like your Dad, don’t you!” No denying it, I was the spitting image of my beloved Father. I didn’t mind that part, I just often wondered what it felt like to be so beautiful.

To round out the image, my Mother had a well-proportioned body for her short height, but she always strived to be thinner. Consequently, she embarked on one fad diet after another—-including the grapefruit diet and the lemon and lime diet which gave her indigestion. The cabbage soup diet was a moving experience for all of us. After years of yo-yo dieting, the only weight that Mom lost permanently was her gall bladder.

Having a fond attachment to my gall bladder, I don’t ever try diets, but finally I did ask my doctor, “I eat fruits and vegetables and I exercise, so why am I not thinner?” And he replied,
“Because you’re not supposed to be.” When he left the room, his nurse added, “You do know that muscle weighs more than fat.” “Well,” I replied, “It’s amazing how much muscle I can gain after a cruise.” I never step on a scale at the Doctor’s office, because they always weigh my clothes along with me, and I am convinced that the nurse puts her foot on the scale while standing behind me.

In past years, in order to make a lot of money, people have come up with bizarre and downright stupid diets. I vowed a long time ago that the only Master Cleanse” I would take is a daily shower. Nor will I ingest a diet of lemons and limes. No sourpuss am I!  Some women have taken up cigarette smoking to curb their appetites. This is probably the most risky of all diets, and I vow never to be the thinnest woman in the cemetery.

Jennifer Anniston eats baby food to lose weight. If I did that, I think my taste buds would shrivel up and die, or I would start drooling and sucking my thumb. I had a friend who was Fashion Editor of the New York Times Magazine. She told me that some models eat Kleenex to curb their hunger, so they could look like anorexic clothes hangers.

I recently read that, “The second day of a diet is always easier than the first, because by the second day—you’re off of it!

Way to Go!  Way to Go!

Esther Blumenfeld (Food is an important part of a balanced diet.”)  Fran Lebowitz

DELIVER ME

Postal Service never used to be an oxymoron. As he strolled down the block, the mailman used to deliver mail to a mailbox outside people’s homes, or drop letters directly into a slot in the front door.

Our mailman used to enjoy reading postcards that my Grandfather sent us from London.  My grandparents had escaped there from Germany at the beginning of World War II, and my Grandfather tried very hard to learn the English language. The mailman came to our door laughing as he read, “London is fine, but we don’t have enough intercourse.”  Unfortunately, my proper Grandfather had forgotten to add the word, “social.”

In those days, the FBI would never have had to subpoena a suspect’s records to find out what he was up to. All they would have had to do was to ask our mailman. He would know everything.  However, the mailman was everyone’s friend. Nowadays, I have never even seen my mailman’s legs, because he never leaves his beloved truck. If an alien vehicle is blocking my mailbox— Forget it!  No mail that day!

Granted, now, postal workers have lots of competition, such as UPS and FedEX. Their drivers do run to the door, ring the bell and yell something like, “Trick or Treat, and then they run away. It’s only a problem when they deliver a package to your door that belongs to someone else. I have, on many  occasions, run after a UPS truck, but have never, ever managed to catch it.

Recently, Amazon has gotten into the act. A drone can hover and deliver, but the problem arises if you stick your head out of the door at the wrong time. I enjoy reading books, but not getting crowned by them.

The newest innovation is that now Amazon can deliver a package to vehicles in “accessible locations.”  I remember when we lived in Chicago and had to park on the street. That was “accessible” until it snowed and we had to move to the other side of the street every other day. How, in the world, could the Amazon person find our trunk—-let alone defrost it?

There’s no limit to the innovations from chief digital workers. Not only can I now give strangers access to my automobile, but they can also waltz into my living room to deliver a package “securely and reliably.”  Maybe, for a few extra bucks they’d vacuum the carpet on the way out.

There is no end to the mix of commerce and innovation. Maybe, soon, Amazon drivers can make house calls that doctors used to make. The digital officers of the company may find a way to set up a driver-medical-delivery-care app.

Some people might really appreciate the delivery into their bathroom of rectal suppositories.  After all, “Amazon expands its reach into places long considered no-go zones for most people outside the immediate family.” Amazon intends be at the forefront of any invasion of your privacy that you will allow.

I think it’s the mailman’s fault. He should never have read Grandfather’s postcard.

Esther Blumenfeld