ALL THAT'S FIT TO PRINT

It’s a tradition in my home to start the day with a cup of java and a newspaper. When visiting with my family in Washington, DC, the Washington Post was a real treat, but in Tucson, Arizona I have to settle for the Arizona Daily Star---not a bad paper---but certainly not the Post. I know I can get the news on my computer screen or tablet, but somehow it’s just not the same for me as print on paper.

So, here’s how I read my morning paper: I start by scanning the Sports Page. I’m not a sports fan, but knowing which team won and which team lost makes me look like less of a wuss to my friends. The weather is on the back of the Sports Section so that’s an easy page flip.

After I discard the Sports Page, I separate the funny papers and the television page from the rest of the paper. Sometimes the “Funnies” are really funny. The other day, there was a cartoon of a woman looking up into the sky, with a box on her head, and a drone delivered pizza running down her face. I understood that one. But, it is truly aggravating when I don’t comprehend the technical terms coming out of a bubble over a cartoon character’s head.

The Classified Pages are usually sparse reading---found pets, lost pets, apartments for rent and “new antiques” for sale, etc. Sometimes Public Notices are interesting. In so many words they warn, “Creditors beware, this guy is a deadbeat,” or “This person is going through a name change.”  I once knew a guy who changed his name from Teddy to Gary. I guess he wanted to be named after a city.

The Local News lets me know who shot his neighbor, which roads have the worst potholes, and which company is being fined for getting caught doing something they didn’t think they’d get caught for doing.

On the Editorial Page, I especially enjoy reading “Letters to the Editor.”  Living in Arizona, it is always comforting to know that when an angry person has a pen in his hand he won’t be able to hold a gun. 

Also, I learn something new everyday when reading the “Advice Column.” Yesterday, it featured a letter asking, “Do chess and sex mix?” It is illuminating to learn that Strip Poker is no longer in style.

At this point, I usually get a second cup of coffee and browse the ad section before I begin reading about, “The Nation” and “The World”.

There are companies that offer “easy financing, free delivery and a guy who’s going to break your fingers if you don’t pay up.” (I made up that last part.)

I enjoy reading about an “authentic family owned service” That’s so much better than an unauthentic family service. The Dollar Store sells a can of coffee for $6.00. That is confusing.  I thought they sold everything for a single Yen.  And, I discovered that the cheapest item featured in the grocery store ads is a flu shot.

Finally, I turn to the front page to read about all the bad things that are in the forefront of today’s news. It’s always upsetting to read from day to day that humanity is not as advanced as technology.  Then I noticed a headline that informed me that,  “Exercising when angry may trigger a heart attack.”

So, I read the obituary page to cheer myself up. Most people who live in the desert are well preserved and live to a ripe old age, and it’s always good news that my name is not on that page, because then I’d have to cancel my morning paper.

Esther Blumenfeld

JUDGMENT DAZE

There’s a cartoon in the newspaper called, “Baby Blues.” Mom is supervising her little boy’s homework and he says, “Once Brad dared me to eat a worm, but I only licked it, and then stuck it up my nose.” Mom says, “Can you think of a different example of good judgment?” And the child says, “Why do they make these essays so hard?”

I told my friend, Debra that story, and she said, “I can top that! My seven-year-old granddaughter is an animal lover. She and her little brother had a pet fish, and unfortunately, one morning, they discovered that the fish had died. My granddaughter was inconsolable and cried and cried. Her father comforted her until the tears stopped. At that, her little brother said, “Dad, can we eat him now?”

Debra’s grandson got the facts and made a decision. I guess he never heard the saying, “Be silent. Be safe!” Sometimes decisions to talk or act are like that.

I am a decisive person. I try to get all the facts first and then make my decision. Most of the time, it works out okay, but sometimes I am wrong. If that happens my mantra is: “Hang on to the good memories. Have no regrets. Proceed! Teddy Roosevelt said, “If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your troubles, you wouldn’t sit for a month.”

Recently, I decided not to attend a community association meeting that I suspected would be acrimonious, because people were being asked to fork out more money, so bills could be paid. I had already decided to vote, “Yes,” on the issue and decided not to submit myself to unnecessary aggravation.

Usually, when I make a decision I stick to it. However, I have a friend who is extremely indecisive. I have learned never to go clothes shopping with her. She will find an outfit she likes, try it on, like it even more, because she looks good in it, and then won’t purchase it because she “might find something better.” Then she will go from store, to store, to store---usually ending up with no purchase made.

My husband only went clothes shopping with me once. I held up two dresses and said, “Which dress should I buy?” His reaction was, “Buy both of them. Can we go home now?”  That showed extremely good judgment!

As I get older, I find myself faced with more and more difficult decisions, but it helps me to remember that I am completely unique---just like everyone else.

I like what Ron White said about making decisions. He said, “If life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade---and then, try to find someone whose life has given him vodka---and then have a party!”

Try to be careful with your decisions, because it’s well to remember that, “If at first you don’t succeed, so much for sky diving.” (Henny Youngman)

Esther Blumenfeld

SENSE ISN'T ALWAYS COMMON

A young friend just told me that the doctor diagnosed the pain in his joint as, “Tennis Elbow.” “That’s really weird,” he said, “because I don’t play tennis.” “Well,” I replied, “You must be doing some repetitive motion to cause the pain.” I know that he lifts weights, and does all kinds of cockamamie exercises on a Nautilus Machine, but when I said, “It’s probably one of your exercises,” he protested that it didn’t hurt when he exercised.  I then advised that he pay attention to which repetitive exercise causes him pain, and then, “Stop doing it.”

My advice made sense to me, but he will probably ignore it, because I’m not a doctor. Common sense can be so underrated. The whole conversation reminded me of the old joke, “Doctor it hurts when I do that.” “Okay,” says the Doctor, “Stop doing that!”

Years ago, as an avid swimmer, I would swim for 45 minutes at a time, using the “Australian Crawl”. My right shoulder started hurting, so I went to the doctor, and after several cortisone shots, I was told that shortly I would need a shoulder replacement. That’s what the doctor said, but he never asked me what I thought might be causing the problem. My common sense told me to just stop swimming that way, and my shoulder miraculously healed without having to take a trip to Lourdes.

I have a friend who decided to fill her Jaguar with gas at 11:00 p.m. at the most deserted, unlit gas station she could find. I skipped the common sense speech and went right to---“Are you nuts?”  I admit that sometimes it is difficult to choose between right and wrong, but certainly a person should know the difference between right and stupid.

It’s always good advice not to argue with a fool, but when a kid behind the counter at the hardware store bragged, “I never vote, and I never will.” I said to him, “If someone came in here and told you that the government is going to take away your right to vote, you’d probably be the first one out there kicking up a fuss.”

I would like to say that I gave him something to think about, but I’m not sure he could do that. Perhaps, my common sense should have told me that we’d all be better off without him setting foot in a voting booth.

I agree with W.C. Fields who said, “Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“A sense of humor is just common sense dancing.”) William James

STICKY MUSIC

After running a few errands this morning, I returned home and started humming a song. I didn’t pay too much mind to what I was humming until I stopped and realized, “I am singing, Three Blind Mice.” How dumb is that!  Well, it got not only dumber but extremely irritating, because I couldn’t rid myself of the ditty in my head. Don’t know what precipitated it, unless I was thinking of the voters in the forthcoming election. Nah! It couldn’t be that.

What had lodged in my memory, like a broken record, was an “earworm”---an annoying tune that repeats itself in an endless loop. Scientists who study the earworm phenomena suggest that to get rid of it one should replace the song with more amenable thoughts. They suggest that working on a Sudoku Puzzle or on anagrams (word games rearranging letters) or reading something that will challenge the cognitive part of your brain will do the trick.

So, I picked up Consumer Reports Magazine and started reading page after page about, “How to Protect Your Privacy.” The article was so depressing that I threw the magazine into the trash and cheered myself up by singing, “Three Blind Mice---See how they run”---and then I forgot the rest of the lyrics which made me feel even worse.

Three quarters of people who experience earworms report unique songs not experienced by others. A western Washington team of scientists found that Lady Gaga was the most common artist to get stuck in people’s heads with pop songs such as Just Dance and Paparazzi. That sounds like much more fun than getting stuck with three mice.

While reading about earworms, I learned that the song, “Put the Blame on Mame”, obsessed Jean Harris, who murdered her lover, Herman Tarnower. If I remember correctly, the three blind mice had something to do with a butcher knife. Maybe she could have blamed them instead of Mame.

Here are some suggested cures for earworm:

Identify the song playing in your head.

Well, that won’t work for me because sometimes I make up Country Western songs in my head such as, “I won’t leave until I milk the cow. I won’t leave until I slop the sow. I won’t leave until I mow the hay. I guess I just won’t leave today. ” And those are just the lyrics.

Search the Internet for the complete version of the tune in your head.

That’s impossible, because to do that, you have to know the name of the song.

Play the tune for several minutes and listen to it.

Hooray!  That way the earworm can become a permanent mental soundtrack you can never eliminate from your brain.

After the song is finished playing, go and do something that avoids your mind from wandering.

Impossible!  My mind goes places I’ve never even been.

Replace the earworm with another song.

That’s just what I need---twin earworms.  So where’s the answer?

“The answer my friend is blowing in the wind. The answer is blowing in the wind”

Esther Blumenfeld

SHOW AND TELL

When my son, Josh was in second grade, he had a pal named, Joey. Joey’s father was a doctor, and one day, when he had to pick up some files at the hospital, he asked the boys if they wanted to go along for the ride. Naturally, they were up for the adventure.

On their way to the hospital, they told Joey’s Dad that they had to bring something to school the next day for Show and Tell, and Joey’s Dad said,  “How would you boys like to take your urine specimens to show the class?”

So, the next day, Josh and Joey presented two vials of urine, along with a graphic description of the collection, to the enthusiastic class. Nothing, fazed their teacher, Mrs. McIntyre, whose response was, “That was most illuminating, Boys. Now, go dispose your exhibit into the toilet.”

After the class calmed down, little Timmy Snyder raised his hand and said, “Mrs. McIntyre, my Daddy is a doctor too. Can I bring him to school tomorrow for Show and Tell?” “Certainly,” replied the teacher, “But we’ve already heard enough about urine. That’s not what you plan to share, is it?” “Oh, No,” said Timmy. “My Daddy had a vasectomy.”  Mrs. McIntyre retired shortly after that.

Show and Tell, in second grade, was a lovely way for the children to get to know one another. Sharing something meaningful encouraged children in the class to respect one another, and talking about something of interest, helped a child develop some organizational and presentational skills---as well as thinking fast on his or her feet. For a shy child, this was a real challenge, but an important one.

The only time I was involved in Show and Tell, as an adult, was at my wedding shower, where I had to open my gifts in front of the multitudes and ooze appropriate appreciation---“This is beautiful. Thank you so much!” It worked very well, until I opened one package, and hadn’t the foggiest idea what the item was supposed to be used for. It looked like an instrument right out of the Spanish Inquisition. There was no way I could say, “What is this?” or “Thanks for the thumb screw.” So, I said, “Now, this is truly a memorable gift.”  As you can see, I did not lie!

Nowadays, because of Social Media, we live in a Show and Tell society. It used to be that people valued their privacy, but nothing seems to be sacred anymore. People just let everything hang out---figuratively and literally! And, while they expose themselves, they don’t seem to care that millions of people are watching, listening or hacking their personal lives.

This leaves me to wonder; what do these people really cherish? What do they hold dear? When they get old, everything will have been shown and everything will have been said, and there will be nothing left---even to the imagination.

When my Father was a very old man, in the twilight of his life, he prepared a final surprise for his family.  After his death, when we gathered around the dining room table, my brother, David read Dad’s final wishes for his children and grandchildren. Dad had thoughtfully, and carefully, selected which family heirlooms he thought would be cherished by each person around that table. He had written the history and story of each piece, and gave insight into why he thought that item would be meaningful, and why he had selected it for a particular loved one sitting at that table.

It was the Show and Tell of a lifetime. It was a Show and Tell always to be cherished. It was a Show and Tell gratefully received and never forgotten.

Esther Blumenfeld