WEDDED BLISS-TERS

Digging into my mental museum, I decided to share with you the true story of a wedding from Hell, which I attended fifty years ago. And, YES, it is still exceedingly memorable. The formal wedding and reception dinner were held on a Sunday evening, in December, in the sanctuary, and adjoining reception room, of a little congregation, in a small town near Chicago---where many of the grooms relatives lived.

The wealthy parents of the groom had arranged for a private bus to ferry their fancy Chicago friends to the wedding. Since my husband, Warren, was a groomsman; we arrived a couple of days early.

Saturday morning, Warren looked at the sky and said, “It looks like rain.” He was wrong. It didn’t rain, but late Saturday night, it began to snow. The groom arrived. He hadn’t forgotten to bring his tuxedo, but bringing the wedding license had slipped his mind. Luckily, one of his uncles woke up a sleeping judge, who ordered the powers to be, to open the license office, and by Sunday morning, when the bride arrived, the license was well in hand. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to bring the wedding cake. It kept snowing!

The groom’s aunts had planned an elegant champagne lunch, for out-of-town guests, at the only hotel in town. As we were seated, and the heartfelt toasts were being made, the private dining room doors flew open, and 30 unexpected relatives of the bride (from Detroit) burst into the room, shouting “Is this the place for lunch?”

One of the aunts almost fainted. Another aunt explained, as politely as possible, that since she had not been informed that they were coming, food had not been ordered for them, but she would arrange for some sandwich platters, if they could wait quietly. They decided not to wait, and began to take rolls out of the breadbaskets. When another aunt said, “Please stop doing that,” they left. The breadbaskets were empty. As a matter of fact, they took two of the baskets with them. The almost fainting aunt kept mumbling, “Not our side of the family. Not our side of the family.” Unfazed, the bride said, “What a nice surprise! I had no idea they were invited.” By now the snow was coming down very fast.

Radio commentators reported, “Chicago traffic is backed up due to blizzard conditions.” Most of the guests had decided to get to the wedding early due to the increasingly bad weather. The chapel was beautifully decorated with roses. We could smell them, but no one could see them, because as soon as we all were seated, the lights went out. It was like sitting in a nice smelling coal mine. It was pitch black inside the chapel when the busload of bejeweled and mink covered guests arrived, in their wrinkled tuxedos and gowns, from Chicago. Carrying a flashlight, one disgruntled man said, “I’ll buy the damn electric company in this Burg, if they turn on the lights!”

Candles were lit, and I prayed that they wouldn’t burn down the chapel. Warren prayed that he wouldn’t be poisoned at the dinner, because the refrigeration in the wedding reception area was also down and out. I couldn’t see the bride come down the aisle, but I assume she was present when the vows were said.
After the ceremony, the candles were brought into the reception area. The melting ice-sculptured swans looked more like pigeons, and the champagne was a bit warm, but the food had not spoiled. I’m not sure what I ate, but it kind of tasted good.

“Dancing in the Dark” was a good theme song for the wedding, and then it was time to leave. By now, all of the cars in the parking lot were totally covered with snow. Two of the drunken Detroit relatives had located a couple of shovels and asked Warren, “Where’s our car?” He showed them where to dig.  When they were finished, they had dug out our car. Oops!  

The snow removal truck had only cleared the street that led to the hotel. There was no way we could go anywhere else. So everyone, including the bride and groom spent the night in the hotel. The next day, the bride’s relatives returned to Detroit with their newly acquired breadbaskets. The wealthy people returned on the private bus to Chicago, without buying the electric company, and we were free to go home.

Esther Blumenfeld (The marriage was kaput in a year. I guess they turned on the lights.)

NAILING JELL-O

Webster defines impossible as “incapable of being or occurring.”

Yesterday, I saw a neighbor who had recently retired, and asked him, ”How are you enjoying your retirement?” He said, “So far, so good, but I am studying for my insurance license, so I can work for my wife.” He added, “We have been married for 4 years now, and have never had an argument.” “Well,” I replied, “if you are going to work for your wife, I guess you are going to have quite a few discussions.”

Some things are impossible for me to believe. For instance, it is impossible for me to believe that my computer doesn’t hate me, or that there is intelligent life on other planets when there is so little of it here, or when I get phone calls at dinnertime, from people selling things, that they don’t know I’m eating dinner.

John Candy said, “Whoever said nothing is impossible, obviously hasn’t tried to nail Jell-O to a tree.” However, too often, people say that something is impossible, because they haven’t reasoned out a solution to a difficult problem.

Young people don’t know what’s impossible. That’s why they achieve it. As a writer, I discovered early on that for every 10 people who discouraged me, there would be one person who cheered me on. Then when I achieved the perceived impossible task, the 10 claimed that they, “always said it was a great idea.” It’s good to remember that sometimes the impossible may only be temporary, and that a good friend is impossible to forget.

When I was in college, I took a course in political science. After taking an essay exam, the professor called me into his office and told me, “Your answer on the exam, is the best I have ever read.” I thought, “Wow! That’s great, but that is impossible to believe.” I found out that I was right when he then said, “Unfortunately, your answer had nothing to do with the question.”  That’s when I learned to take classes from professors who asked better questions.

Elizabeth Arden would have like me---not for my flawless make-up, but because she said, “I only want people around me who can do the impossible.” Often, when I was working on a magazine assignment, a contact would say, “It is impossible for me to give you that information,” or, “It will be impossible for you to get an appointment with that busy person.” That’s when I would respond, “Who do I talk to now?” That is when I learned the value of a sense of humor, because it is impossible for people to laugh and be angry at the same time. Once, it took 50 telephone calls, but I got the appointment with the impossibly busy Mayor of Atlanta.

I agree with Walt Disney who said, “It’s kind of fun to do the impossible.” Fear of failure makes it impossible to achieve one’s dreams. A person just has to plow ahead vowing not to fail. It might not work, but you’ll never know if you don’t try the impossible.

Esther Blumenfeld (“In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd.”) Miguel de Cervante

HOW BIG WAS THAT FISH ANYWAY?

How Big Was That Fish Anyway?

I’ve been a trusting person my whole life. Anyway, I usually start out that way. But, if someone lies to me, I tend to remember it.

When I was a little girl, my best friend, Leigh Ann bit me. (When I grew up I chose less violent friends.) I ran into the house crying and told my Uncle Harry what had happened. He said, “I’m going to kill her!” That was quite comforting, until I realized that Leigh Ann would live on to bite her way through life, and that Uncle Harry had lied to me.

Lies have a life of their own, and now with modern technology, lies can spread faster than diaper rash on a baby’s bottom. When telling the truth, you don’t even have to remember what you said, but if you tell a lie, you’d better get it straight if you intend to repeat it.

One day, as I was loading groceries into the trunk of my car, a well-dressed man, carrying a gas can, approached me. He told me that he had just arrived from Philadelphia. He was on his way for a job interview, but had run out of gas. He had left his wallet with his wife, who was waiting in the car with their two children. All he needed was money, so he could get some gas. I was dubious, but gave him some money for the good story.

Two weeks later, he approached me again with the same sob story---except this time he was from Detroit. I said, “Two weeks ago you told me you were from Philadelphia.” “Well,” he said, “I guess that two weeks ago I was from Philadelphia.”

When telling a half-truth, a person should be sure to remember which half to tell. Lies make suckers out of us all. Napoleon Bonaparte said, “History is a set of lies agreed upon.” Several juicy lies have entertained us for generations.

The story goes that the Greeks presented the Trojans with a peace offering in the shape of a wooden horse. When the Trojans pulled the gift into their fortified city, they discovered it was filled with vengeful Greeks. True or not, it’s a good story and perhaps an elaborate lie.

Anna Anderson claimed to be the missing Anastasia of the royal Romanov family, until DNA ruined that hoax. And who, in the 1950’s, wasn’t enthralled with the discovery of the skull of the Piltdown man---the supposed link in evolution---until it was proven that the skull was only 600 years old, and that the attached jawbone came from an orangutan.

Sometimes it takes a long time, but the truth usually prevails. Those who are habitual liars don’t go unpunished. George Bernard Shaw explained the fate of liars very well. He said, “The liars punishment is not in the least that he is not believed, but that he cannot believe anyone else.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“The income tax has made liars out of more people than golf”) Will Roger

VOLENDA ESSKI

 In her book, The Middle Place, Kelly Corrigan writes, “Parents define you first.” If she’s right, I guess perhaps they see you as you want to be seen, and then again---perhaps NOT.

Recently, my brother, David sent me some letters he found in his attic. They were written in 1945, when he was an infant, and I was a 9-year-old spending a couple of weeks in summer camp. I hope through the chuckles, you will catch a glimpse of the woman I became. I know I did.

“Dear Mom and Dad,
Boy, am I having fun. We sang songs on the bus and Rosalie dropped her letters into the water.”

“My Darling Daughter,
I bought 3 movie magazines with pretty actors, and I will save them for you, so you can cut them out for your scrapbook. Be a good girl and wash your ears. Mommy”

“Dear Mom and Dad,
For breakfast I had raisins, Wheaties, milk and toast. I went swimming and am in cabin #1.”

“Dear Daughter,
I imagine that you were so busy enjoying yourself that you did not find the time to write.  Mommy”

“Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m very sorry I didn’t write to you, but I lost my pencil. Now I have to go row a boat.”

“My Dear Daughter,
How are you getting along with the other girls? No fighting? Do you sleep well in your bunk? How does it feel to be on an island? Daddy”

“P.S. The spot on the paper is drool from your baby brother.”

“Dear Mom and Dad,
I saw two raccoons last night. They say there are deer on the island. The cabins are full of spiders, but they aren’t poisonous. How many dishes did Daddy break since I left?”

“Dear Daughter,

Please don’t bring any spiders home. Please don’t forget anything at camp. Remember the BLANKETS belong to Mrs. Dworsky. Are you washing yourself good? How about your ears and neck? Do you treat them well? Be a good girl Mommy”

“Dear Daddy,
I am writing a play for you.
(Signed) Volenda Esski”

So, I grew up, washed my ears and neck, and wrote some more plays and a few books. I don’t know where I picked up the pseudonym “Volenda Esski.” Sometimes, I still find excuses not to write, but eventually I manage to find my pencil. I’m not collecting photos of movie stars anymore, but I still keep scrapbooks that have preserved some sweet memories.

My breakfast habits haven’t changed much. I still enjoy swimming, but can’t remember the last time I rowed a boat. And, I never “fight” with my friends. I’m still not afraid of spiders, and occasionally when I drop something, I realize that I have become almost as clumsy as my Father. However, I never dropped 8 dinner plates at one time. In all fairness, the seat of the chair he was standing on broke through. He was okay---the dishes---not so much.

Esther Blumenfeld (“It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn’t.”) Barbara Kingsolver

HEDGING YOUR BETS

Wake up!  It’s time for a riddle: What do you consistently buy that is very expensive, but that you never want to use, and that the seller doesn’t really want you to use either?

If that doesn’t ring your chimes, the clue is in your checkbook. Minimally, you insure your life, your body parts, your home and your car, and if that isn’t good enough, you spend some more money on a million-dollar umbrella policy to protect you from a litigious cloud burst.

There are other insurances such as coverage for lost packages, floods, or termites that can chew you out of house and home, and the most recent insurance is coverage for a wedding. The average American wedding now costs around $26,000.00, so a number of companies now insure certain losses due to problems with vendors, and issues such as hurricanes, illness and cold feet. However, if the couple decides to break-up, it has to be nine months before the happy event to collect. I think that wedding insurance stops the moment the couple says, “I do!” I doubt if any company is solvent enough to insure a moment after that.

I was happy to have car insurance when an old lady confused her gas pedal for her brake pedal and rear-ended me at a stoplight. The police officer suggested that she stop driving when he saw a man carrying her radiator back to her car.

For most of us, insurance is a necessary but annoying expense, however for some people it serves another purpose such as publicity. Lloyds of London was the go to company for odd insurances. In the 1940’s executives of 20th Century Fox insured the legs of the popular pin-up and actress, Betty Grable for one-million-dollars each.

In 1957, food critic, Egon Ronay insured his taste buds for $400,000.00. That was before the popularity of jalapeño peppers, and people still had taste buds.

Thirteen-year-old Harvey Lowe won the 1932 World Yo-Yo Championship in London, and toured Europe with his up and down toy. His sponsor, the Cheerio Yo-Yo Company of Canada insured his hands for $150,000.00.

Michael Flatley, star of Riverdance, must have thought his legs were prettier than Betty Grable’s because he insured them for forty-seven-million dollars.

The comedy team of Bud Abbot and Lou Costello took out a $250,000.00, five-year policy to protect against a career-ending argument. Unfortunately, that didn’t include a career-ending argument with the Internal Revenue Service.

Bruce Springsteen insured his voice, Rod Stewart his throat and Bob Dylan his vocal cords.

Actuaries, who work for insurance companies, use mathematical, statistical and financial theories to study uncertain future events and the consequences of covering clients. They help to determine who is the biggest risk for the insurance company, and ask questions such as: “How many times has this bozo gone sky diving without opening his parachute in the last year?” If it’s more than once, forget the Whole Life Policy!

Esther Blumenfeld (“Can you really count on unpredictability?”) WSB