SORRY ABOUT THAT

When I was a little girl, my nemesis, LuAnn Perinood, bit me on the arm. I went home crying, and my Uncle Harry roared, “I’m going to kill her!” Eventually, I forgave LuAnn, but I never quite forgave my Uncle Harry for not carrying out his promise. He shouldn’t have said he was going to kill her, if he wasn’t going to do it.

Some people have a problem with saying, “I’m sorry.” I don’t understand that. If I’ve done something to be sorry about, I own up to it. Of course, “Sorry!” isn’t enough. For instance, if you step on a friend’s glass eye, you should offer to pay for it---or at least help him put it back in.

If you have offered a genuine apology, the other person should accept it, unless it’s something like eloping with your best friend’s fiancée. “I’m sorry,” might not sound sincere in that case.  Wait a few years.

Of course, there are some people who like their anger, and don’t have the capacity for forgiveness. Anne Lamott said, “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”

If your child spills his drink on your sofa and says, “I’m sorry,” don’t yell at him. Just pretend that he is company and say, “Don’t worry about it.” Accidents happen. That’s why they are called “accidents,” not “on purposes.” And, by the way, what makes company more precious than your child?  But I digress.

 Forgiveness is really a liberating emotion. A woman came to her rabbi and told him, “I have held a grudge against my sister for 20 years.” The rabbi, said, “If I dropped a hot coal into your hand, what would you do?” She said, “I’d drop it.” “It’s time,” he replied, “to do that with your grudge.”

My gift is that I can’t stay angry with anyone.  It’s simply too exhausting. I have learned, “Don’t let anyone live rent-free in your head.”

The best advice I ever received about forgiveness is this: “Sometimes, the first step to forgiveness is understanding that the other person is a complete idiot.”

That’s comforting!

Esther Blumenfeld

DRONING ON AND ON

A drone just flew over my house, and I’m not talking about a male bee here!

Although Tucson is home to a very big military base, I can attest to the fact that the only enemy in our neighborhood is a nasty poodle, who is an equal opportunity pooper, and I assume that since the drone is not for military use, it won’t zap him.

I suppose that a frustrated, civilian, wannabe pilot---a man with a boy toy---is flying this little unmanned aircraft. And, he probably won’t read the instruction manual until his drone lands in my tree.

It seems to me, that unless there is a compelling reason, operators of drones should stay out of the crowded skies as well as my neighborhood.  I like my privacy, and don’t want one of these whirlybirds hovering near any of my windows.

Martha Stewart received a drone for her birthday, and wrote an article for TIME MAGAZINE about the drone monitoring her flowerbed. I would have been more interested had she written an article about drones delivering hacksaws to prison.

Right now, you can buy a little drone for around $200.00, or you can get a fancy one for around $1000.00, and there are about 5,600 drones registered for commercial purposes. A delivery drone can bring merchandise (such as a sweater) to your doorstep, without you having to sign for it. And thieves, who follow that drone, can pick up that merchandise, so you won’t have to return it if it doesn’t fit.

I can see one practical use for a drone. Once you learn to fly the contraption, you could deliver your misbehaving kid to grandma post haste. Mission accomplished!

According to the FAA, to this date, 450,000 hobbyists have registered at least one drone. So where do we draw the line between Google, Apple and Microsoft innovation, and issues of privacy and safety? Recently, firefighters had to discontinue helicopter flights over a fire, because of an inquisitive drone in the area. There is no communication between helicopters, planes and drones. I assume the drone was equipped with a camera. The operator must have been named Nero---fiddling around taking pictures of the blaze.

If people want to use drones to spy on their neighbors, they really need to invent quieter ones, because if a person is sunbathing naked in her back yard, she might become suspicious when hearing a leaf blower flying overhead.

Admittedly, drones do have some good purposes when operated by experienced people. They can deliver disaster relief, inspect downed power lines, and deliver needed supplies to remote areas, but I doubt that drones, used as toys, will serve any purpose other than annoyance.

Right now, a panel of privacy experts has submitted guidelines that people are supposed to voluntarily follow such as: “Get permission before flying over someone’s property.”  That makes about as much sense as---- Avoid using personal information you gathered, for marketing purposes or blackmail. Who needs to chase an ambulance when you can catch a drone hanging from a tree?

Esther Blumenfeld (“Good judgment comes from experience, and experience---Well, that comes from poor judgment.”) A.A. Milne

PLAYING IT COOL

When it’s 114 degrees outside no one has to tell me that, “It’s officially summer.” However, the weather certainly becomes a conversational icebreaker. Someone should really invent a stopwatch that pinches a person’s wrist the third time he says, “It’s hot outside.” When you live in the desert, everyone should know that summer means HOT! Unusual weather is the kind you get only when you are on vacation somewhere else---anywhere else.

When someone asks me, “Doesn’t it get hot in Tucson in the summer?” I always say, “Yes it’s terrible. I think you should move to Florida.” We already have enough people who have moved here. Until the monsoon rains arrive, with their spectacular lightening shows over the mountains, the Arizona heat is very dry. It feels something like sticking your head into an oven. I still find that preferable to (my Florida friends please forgive me) breathing in the swamp air in Florida, a place that gets so hot and humid that the dampness curls your toes.

As Mark Twain said, “Climate is what we expect, weather is what we get.” Some people hate London when it’s not raining. Go figure. I guess they say, “Oh, Dear, it’s not raining again.”

I find hot weather much less annoying than the people who complain about it. It’s not the heat, it’s the birdbrains who move to the desert and then say, “Wow, It’s hot in the desert.”

Of course, no one would live here if it weren’t for that cool fellow, Willis Carrier, who invented the first modern air conditioner in Buffalo, New York. No wonder Buffalo is so cold in the winter.  Residential air conditioning was introduced in the 1920’s that enabled migration to the Sun Belt.

A few years ago, I took a river cruise on an old tub to Portugal. The air conditioner broke down, and since it was American made, they couldn’t get a part until after we limped to the next port. It was then, that I was happy I was a desert rat.  I had learned what the natives did in the summer heat in Tucson, before air conditioning was invented. I took the top sheet off of my bed, dampened it with cold water, wrapped myself in that wet sheet, and opened the balcony door. I cooled off the old fashioned way---covering my head when the flying bugs attacked.  It was kind of like an over heated horror movie.

While waiting for the cooling monsoon rains, I remind myself of the blizzards in Chicago, the icy roads in South Dakota, and shoveling mountains of snow in Indiana. As Carl Reiner said, “ A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.” And, as much as I hate to admit it---Weather really isn’t all about me.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Weather forecast for tonight: Dark!) George Carlin

CURIOSITY

Recently, someone said, “I don’t understand banks. Why do they attach chains to their pens? If I trust them with my money, why don’t they trust me with their pens?” I had no answer for his question, but I did immediately recognize the evidence of an inquisitive mind, since I have one myself.

Years ago, I was curious about how I could defend myself in a sticky situation, so I signed up for a self-defense class. The teacher was a burly, retired police officer. He wore protective gear while demonstrating how to raise a knee, break a nose and gouge an eye.  After I asked a few questions such as, “Wouldn’t it be easier just to give him my wallet?” and “Could I get sued if I hurt him?” the officer finally said, “Don’t ask. Just do it!”

After a few lessons, it was time for the final exam that involved throwing the policeman to the floor when he attacked me.  I took one look at the masked attacker, grabbed my purse and ran out of the building.  Yes, I flunked the course, but I did learn to always look behind me when someone is following me.  I have met the nicest people that way.

My son, Josh, is always dismayed when I talk to strangers, but I am just not good at building walls. The thing about walls is that I always want to know what’s behind them.  Every person is unique and has his, or her, own story, which---if you are a good listener--- they are usually willing to share. And, often, I can learn something of value. My goal is to learn one new thing a day, and, if I have done that, it’s an accomplishment.

For instance, when I see people looking at something on the hiking trail, I always ask, “What do you see?” They are happy to share the spotting of a deer hidden in the foliage, or a rare bird on a branch, or a snake sitting on top of a cactus. “How can a snake climb up there without getting impaled on those prickly spines?” Good question! Thick skin.

In my adventures, I have run into a variety of people. One day, I endeared myself to a scantily clothed, young woman, posing for a magazine photo, when I gave her a spritz of bug spray. I have bandaged a bleeding knee on a kid from Alaska, and I said “Hello” in Chinese (the only Chinese word I know that sounds like Knee How) to a woman doing Tai Chi. She followed me all the way back to my car chattering in Chinese. Needless to say, I didn’t learn much from that exchange, except that nodding sagely seems to work.

I usually ask camera-toting visitors if they’d like a group photo. The photo taker is always so pleased to be included in the picture. One day, I told a man to join the group. He said, “I don’t know those people.” So I said, “Well, get in the picture anyway,” and he did. Years from now, no matter how inquisitive they are, those people still won’t recognize him.

Children have an annoying habit of asking, “Why? Why? Why?” and adults have an annoying habit of replying, “Because. Because. Because” The children are curious, but eventually find out that parents don’t have all the answers.

As I get older, life gets, as Lewis Carroll said, “Curiouser and curiouser.” With modern technology information is instantaneous. Unfortunately, too often, as Oscar Wilde observed, “The public have an insatiable curiosity to know everything, except what is worth knowing.”

There are so many questions still to be asked, and I’m sure many answers will be found, but sometimes people want to discourage those with inquisitive minds by recounting the proverb, “Curiosity killed the cat.”  However, few people remember that, “satisfaction brought it back.”

Esther Blumenfeld (“Curiosity killed the cat, but for awhile I was a suspect”) Steven Wright.

MARY'S FOLLY

My friend, Mary may have low vision, but she makes up for it with extremely high energy and enthusiasm. She hangs with a crowd of women who have no idea what “old” means, and they approach life with vim and vigor. They snub their noses at anyone who calls them “elderly”.

One of Mary’s pals, Joan, recently had a hip replaced, so she suggested that her friends bring the cards and poker chips to her house, as she cried, “Let the games begin!”

Since Mary can’t drive, Gloria, her 92-year-old compatriot picked her up, along with another player, and they began the trek to Joan’s house, which is far, far away, on the other side of the moon. Bossy Mary took the co-pilot seat, and, although she can’t see that well, she played navigator all the way.

When they got to Joan’s house, and drove up the beautiful curving drive, Gloria said, “Look at that lovely yard. Isn’t it great how Joan’s husband, Buddy takes care of everything.”  The three women, of seasoned years, all got out of the car, carrying their bags of cards and poker chips, and rang the doorbell. After waiting for a few minutes, Mary rang the bell again.

Finally, the door opened, and a big man, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, with his hairy legs exposed, said, “Sorry it took me so long, but we are in the shower.”

Mary said, “Oh, Buddy, you’re looking so good,” and she gave him a big hug. Whereupon she walked into the house and said, “Sorry, we’re early.”

Stopping her, before she could go any further, Gloria said, “Mary, that’s not Buddy. Buddy is a lot shorter than this man. We’re at the wrong house.” Happily, Gloria caught up with her before Mary got to the bathroom. After all, she wasn’t wearing a shower cap.

I never did find out who was in the shower with that man, but I suspect that he is still in shock---standing there in his comfy robe, with his hairy legs sticking out---wondering, “What in the Hell just happened?”

Sometimes life is just like that.

Esther Blumenfeld