NOT THAT KIND OF POT

While channel flipping on my television set, I discovered that one of the “Housewives” had hired a potty trainer for $2000 to toilet-train her little two-year- old daughter. The deal was that in two days the job would be done. That’s a $1000 a day to get the kid to pee in a pot.

My practical friend, Paula said, “The money would have been better spent on some expensive bottles of wine. Mommy could enjoy drinking it, relax and let nature take its course.” I think she’s right.  I have never met anyone in college who hasn’t been potty trained.

I have, however, met college kids with potty mouths. When I was in college, I brought some colorful language home with me for my first visit. My Dad reminded me that, “English is such a robust language. Surely you can find more acceptable words to express yourself.” I studied the dictionary and cleaned up my act.

Years ago, I took a taxi from the airport to my hotel in New York. The driver hailed from a Middle Eastern Kingdom where they never taught him how to turn off his automobile emergency blinker. Of course, every driver that passed us, shouted, “Your emergency blinker is on.” Whereupon he would yell back, “Your Mother is a camel.”

The problem with using obscene words from a foreign language is that the recipient---as well as the person throwing them around doesn’t often understand them.  For instance, many times I have heard someone call another person a “Putz.”  It is obvious to me that they do not understand that “Putz” has nothing to do with golf.

Sometimes, obscenities are relegated to gestures. I have a friend who, when cut off in traffic, shot the other driver a hand gesture. “What are you doing?” I asked her. She responded, “I am giving him the finger.”  “No,” I replied. “You are giving him the thumb.”

Sometimes, it’s all in the translation.

 Esther Blumenfeld

A TAIL OF TWO DOGS

I like dogs, but I’ve never lived with one. Happily, I’m in the enviable position of having a relationship with two beautiful, intelligent mutts. I can play with them, and then, like a doting grandparent, send them home with their human families.

First, let me introduce you to Dulce. Like her Spanish name, this sophisticated lady is as sweet as a pound of caramel candy. I enjoy taking walks with Dulce and her human friend, Perry. Of course, Perry thinks he is the boss in this relationship, but my observation of their interaction tells me he is delusional. For instance, Perry told me that, “For the best seat in the house, I have to move the dog.” And, Perry can never trust Dulce to guard a pastrami sandwich.

Dulce and I have a ritual that at the end of our walks, we will shake paw (hers) to hand (mine), and then she will jump on Perry. Being jumped on by Dulce is like having a 45-pound suitcase hurled at you off the carousel at the airport—and if she has run through wet grass---it’s like a 45-pound WET suitcase.

Dulce has a sweet disposition, and I have never seen her stop to conduct a major business transaction. She conducts those in the privacy of her backyard. When a grown man has to pick up dog poop, you know who’s in charge. I rest my case.

Now, let me introduce you to Zoe. Zoe lives in another city, and since her adoptive parents are my cousins, I guess she’s kind of a member of my family. Zoe could be Dulce’s little sister. Are all mutts caramel color? In order to discover her heritage, a DNA test would have to be administered, but I swear that when she stretches out on the ground, she resembles a balloon critter that clowns create at kids’ parties. So, I know she’s part balloon.

Zoe rarely barks, but when she does so, everyone has to play the guessing game, “What the heck is she barking at?” As a matter of fact, Dulce is also not big on barking, unless Perry is sleeping. Then Dulce wants to remind him that she’s the boss.

When I first met Zoe, she did a little wiggle dance, and her tail wasn’t just wagging, it was rotating, and it never slowed down. I am convinced that she is not only part balloon, but also part helicopter. It warmed my heart, when she followed me about, and snuggled next to me on the sofa, and became my best friend. I was so flattered that Zoe loved me---until I discovered that Zoe loves everybody!

Taking Zoe for a walk is a happening. Obviously, the entire neighborhood belongs to her. She sniffs out every nook and cranny and gleefully marks her territory along the way---turning the walk into a stop and go adventure. At one stop, a man asked, “Is that a cat in a dog suit?” Zoe would have licked him to death, had I allowed it.

So, what happens at feeding time? Every morning, Dulce escorts the family cat to the kitchen and watches the cat eat some of her dog food. I’ve never seen the cat, because it goes into hiding after the daily theft. Dulce is obviously good at sharing.

However, Zoe inhales her food in less than 30 seconds. She licks the bowl clean, and to paraphrase Oliver Twist, she always looks around and disgustedly seems to wonder, “Is that it?” Of course, with both dogs, no one ever has to pick food up off the floor.

Alone at home seems to be more of an adventure for Dulce than for Zoe. Zoe will delicately gather her family’s slippers and socks, pile them on the sofa, near the front window, and keep watch until they return.

Dulce will do something unexpected such as the day she ate Perry’s girlfriend’s bathing suit, and she didn’t even share it with the cat.

Esther Blumenfeld (“The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him, and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”) Samuel Butler

IT COULD HAVE BEEN PRUNES

Last week, my friend Barbara called and said, “Would you like some figs?” “Sure,” I replied. “I like figs.” She dropped off a big bag of figs.

A couple of days later, Barbara called again. “I’m bringing you a jar of fig jelly.” “Thanks so much,” was my response. The jelly arrived with another big bag of figs.

I called my friend, Perry. “Would you like some figs?”  He replied, “Not unless they are attached to Newtons.”

In a few days, Barbara called again and said, “I’m dropping off some fig scones.” The scones arrived with another bag of figs.  Finally, I got up the courage to say, “Barbara, I know you are a fabulous cook, but what’s with all the figs?”

Barbara replied, “It’s a classic case of the ‘No good deed goes unpunished phenomenon.” My friend, Barbara has a very big heart, and is kind to many people. Among them is a neighbor whose parents recently died. He, of the prolific fig tree, is very grateful for Barbara’s caring during his time of grief, and now Barbara hesitates to get her morning paper, because it seems to arrive everyday with another platter of figs.

After she left, I called Perry and told him that I didn’t have Fig Newtons, but I did have scones. He was happy to receive the bounty.  Then I called my friend, Jane. “Would you like some figs?” She laughed and said, “Barbara just brought me a big bag. I made Fig Glaze for chicken.  Just sent my husband out for chicken.”

Barbara just called to tell me that she found a recipe for a porchetta, goat cheese and fig quiche.  Knowing her, she will continue her delicious fig adventure until the tree is empty or killed by frost. 

I’m just waiting for the day that she informs me that she has made a fig leaf jock strap for her husband.

Esther Blumenfeld

NOODLE BRAINS AND OTHER CHOICES

Teddy Roosevelt said, “In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing.”

Everyday, we have all kinds of choices. Go to the grocery store and decide which cantaloupe to buy. You can thump, press and smell it, and still wind up with a dud, but there’s an easy solution for that choice. The mushy melon can be dumped into the garbage or returned to the store.

It’s not so easy when choosing people who will have an impact on our lives. I have a friend who married a beautiful, vivacious woman. His bride was 25 years his junior. The marriage didn’t last because he said, “My history was her trivia.” When I was a kid, I asked my Mother, “How will I know when I’m in love?” She said, “You’ll know,” but she never told me how. I guess she should have said, “Finding a best friend is a good start.”

For those who say; ”Everything happens for a reason,” my answer is, “Sometimes the reason is that you made a bad choice.” The choices you make matter.

When I lived in Georgia, two men were running for Governor. The Democrat was an avowed racist, and the Republican was a noodle brain. At the same time, there were two excellent gubernatorial candidates in California---one a Democrat and the other a Republican.  I could have, in good conscience, voted for either one of them. However, being a resident of Georgia, I had to decide which wrong choice felt the least wrong, so I voted for the noodle brain. Plato said, “If you don’t vote, you will be governed by your inferiors.” In Georgia, I had no choice about who was running for office. I could only do the best with the deck I was dealt.

SPOILER ALERT!  Obviously, I am getting into the realm of politics---something you are advised never to talk about at a party.

I have discovered that you can talk about politics before dinner, during dinner and after dinner---if you are with like-minded people. However, if that is not the case, it’s a good way to call it an early evening, and get home in time for the NBA playoffs.

One of my favorite poets, Robert Frost wrote; “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I---I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.”  I don’t believe in chance. I believe in choice, and that we are all accountable for our actions.

Bear with me. I’m trying to be diplomatic here---keeping in mind that, “Diplomacy is the art of saying, ‘Nice Doggie’ until you can find a rock.” (Will Rogers)

As citizens, we are asked to make a monumental decision in November. I am not so presumptuous as to tell people how to vote, but to quote my friend, Robert Orben, “Do you ever get the feeling that the only reason we have elections is to find out if the polls were right?”

 Esther Blumenfeld (“You can lead a man to Congress, but you can’t make him think.”) Milton Berle

YES---"NO IS AN ANSWER"

One of my all-time favorite books is a little literary companion titled, Rotten Reviews” edited by Bill Henderson in 1986.  It is a compilation of “mistaken, shallow and hostile reviews of books---highlighting nasty attacks on authors and on works that have become classics.”

For instance, a San Francisco Examiner rejection letter sent to Rudyard Kipling in 1889 said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kipling, but you just don’t know how to use the English language.”

And then, there was the London Critic’s review of Walt Whitman’s, “Leaves of Grass” in 1855. “Whitman is as unacquainted with art as a hog is with mathematics.”

Every writer has faced rejection. “No!” is a painful part of the job.  After 40 years in the profession, I have learned that life isn’t about answers; it’s about asking the right questions. In other words, when I needed an interview for a story, and someone’s secretary would say, “Can’t give you an appointment this month,” I’d thank her and then say, “Okay, connect me to someone who can.” Or, “I can write the story without the interview, quoting all the things that other people say about him.” That always worked!

Toddlers learn to say, “No!” early in their development. Being a bit smarter than a toddler, I discovered that double negatives work---“You don’t mind taking your nap now, do you?”  “No!” says the child and you have given her something to ponder before napping.

The older I get, the more I find the “No!” answer unacceptable without a pretty good reason attached. After a soldier yelled “No,” at me, I took a forbidden photo at The Great Wall of China---not realizing there was a military installation in the background. I took photos inside the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg when the old lady guard was sleeping, and when machine gunned soldiers jumped out of their armored trucks to collect bank deposits during the IRA problems, I took a picture before they yelled, “No photos.” All that Irish whiskey had clogged my ears.

Recently, at a charity banquet, an officious woman said to me, “You can’t put your coat on the back of your chair until the doors are officially open.” “Too late,” was my response. “I already found an open door.” I wanted to add, “I’m too old for this crap,” but I didn’t.

My co-author, Lynne Alpern and I received 20 rejections before we got a publisher for our first book, Oh, Lord, I Sound Just Like Mama. All of the editors liked the book, but they said “No,” because their marketing people had told them, “This book won’t sell.” When it was finally published, it received excellent reviews, was on several “Best Seller” lists around the Country, stayed in print for 20 years and sold over 250,000 copies.

Granted, one day, “No” will be the final answer for me. I can accept that. But, in the meantime, I will keep opting for “Yes”---not only---“Yes,” but “HELL, YES!”

Esther Blumenfeld (Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, 1877, “Sentimental rubbish. Show me one page that contains an idea.”) The Odessa Courier