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

OLD STUFF

Years ago, I attended a lecture on a cruise ship. The speaker said that she was starting to downsize, but in the process of getting rid of things, she said that, for her, it was impossible to dispose of photographs. So, she came down into the audience and gave each of us a picture. She said, “Here’s a snapshot of my thumb on the Eifel Tower.” “Here’s one of Chiggers, the cat.” “Here’s one of crazy Uncle Harry.” She continued until she had given everyone in the audience a photograph. Then she said, “I can’t throw them away…YOU DO IT!”

I’m not a packrat, but I have friends who just can’t get rid of anything. I think they feel comfort in clutter. Why does someone who never cooks need five sets of dishes? Wendell Berry said, “Don’t own so much clutter that you will be relieved to see your house catch fire.”

For me, it was a rude awakening when I found one of my former dresses in a Vintage Store. That was a wake-up call. I realized that it’s time to admit that it’s not coming back into style, and unless I am invited to a costume party, it’s time to just let the old garments hanging in my closet go.

With some people, it’s not the unwearable that’s unbearable to toss---it’s paper---piles and piles of paper. Mountains of paper sometimes offer the misconception that you are accomplishing something. Computers notwithstanding, mistrust of technology finds comfort in paper back-ups.

Newspapers and magazines also tend to accumulate when, “I plan to read that article later.” Often “later” turns into never, and that’s when well-meaning relatives “helpfully” toss, while making some old codger miserable. When that happens, there’s the good chance that neatniks will be written out of the will.

It’s probably a good idea to let one’s heirs know what items are of monetary value and which ones are of sentimental value, because even if your daughter hates that painting that’s been in the family for years, she would be well-advised not to let the Picasso become a dart board for the grandkids.

I am genetically attached to my books, as was my Father. When he moved into a senior residence, he said, “ I don’t mind moving---as long as I have my books. My books are my portable homeland.”

There is comfort in the familiar and those things that conjure sweet memories, but certainly those old broken clay pots in the cellar don’t conjure sentimental memories unless you threw them at your third husband.

It’s good to slowly downsize as one gets older, but on the other hand, for those who are left behind to dispose of a loved ones worldly goods, it’s also important to remember that what is left behind is a sacred trust.  Even if it’s a knitted toilet roll cover, it should be disposed of with respect, and love, and care.

Esther Blumenfeld (You should be the boss of your mess.)

LOOK MA! NO HANDS!

In Tucson, the speed limit on Glen Street is 25m.p.h., and since there’s not much traffic on Glen, it’s tempting to drive faster than the posted limit. That’s when people find out that “the best automobile safety device is a rear-view mirror with a cop in it.” (Dudley Moore). Consequently, Glen is the only place where I ever use my cruise control, and for a couple of miles, my vehicle turns into a driverless car.

Self-driving, robotic cars are on the horizon, and experimental driverless technology is now being tested on public roads in Nevada, Washington, California, Florida, Texas and Arizona. A team of fifteen engineers working for Google developed self-driving cars. Sebastian Thrun former director of the Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory led the team, and in 2005, the robotic vehicle won a $2million prize from the U.S. Department of Defense.

In 2014, Google presented a fully functioning prototype of a robotic car with no steering wheel or pedals. Their plan is to make these cars available to the public in 2020. Right now, we fly in computerized airplanes and sail in computer driven ships. Why not fully computerized, robotic cars?

For me, none of this is as terrifying as teaching a teenager to drive. When my son was 15, he was required to take Driver’s Ed in school. However, those cars all had automatic shifts, whereas, our new car was fashioned with a stick shift. So, for several days, I took my son to a church parking lot, and taught him to drive while manually shifting gears. He was in control.  I was not! After the third lesson, he said, “Mom, I think it’s time for you to let me drive in second gear.”

Since my husband had never manually sifted gears either, I had to teach him about the duties of a floor clutch---Foot on clutch to shift.  Shift will scream without a clutch----and, sometimes, the car will die in traffic when you fail to follow directions. That’s when I found out that a person really never learns to swear until he learns to drive.

As a kid, I learned to drive on the icy roads in South Dakota, the last State in the Union to require drivers’ licenses. It wasn’t unusual in those days to see 12-year-old children driving down a county road. Of course, with those little people driving, automobiles looked like driverless cars.

So far, driverless cars drive sober, so they have excellent safety records except when hit by nitwits. As long as humans are at the wheel, they cause 81% of all car crashes.

One issue still in limbo is the legal ramification of driverless cars.  Who do you sue? Even with a horse and buggy, the guy holding the whip was the driver. But then, there wasn’t any legal protection for the Wright Brothers when they took off on their first flight either.

 If you still are reluctant to own a driverless car, perhaps you might like a Cannabis Car made from hemp. A distant cousin to marijuana, this material is akin to a fiber-glass-like plastic. A photo of the beautiful, red car looked smokin’ hot to me! In 1941, Henry Ford unveiled the Soybean Car, but WWII derailed that car which was also constructed with hemp.

The day of driverless cars is coming.  If only, the inventors could make them fly. I can see it now---a driverless, hemp, drone automobile.

Esther Blumenfeld (“The shortest distance between two points is under construction”) Noelie Altito