MEOW! YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME

In ancient days, cats were worshipped as Gods. In my son and daughter-in-law’s home nothing has changed. However, as Mary Bly noted, “Dogs come when they are called; cats take a message and get back to you later.”

Radar is a fifteen-pound, Norwegian Forest Cat, and the spoiled ruler of a house in Fairfax, Virginia.  On his good days, he allows my son and daughter-in-law to share space in some of the rooms in the house, but wherever they are, they have been trained to make room for the “Boss.” Radar thinks they are his entourage.

So, when I walked into the house with my suitcase, Radar walked around me, took one look and decided to wait for his chance to let me know who’s in charge. Yes, I had been there before, but I am sure he remembered that I had locked him out of the guest room, and that I would need some re-training. He found his chance, when, early one morning, the two of us were left to our own devices.

I settled down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, became engrossed in a good book, and totally ignored Radar’s shenanigans. He climbed wherever he knew he was not supposed to roam, but he wasn’t my cat, and I wasn’t about to discipline him, until he suddenly jumped up on the table, and began eating the beautiful flowering cactus I had bought for a centerpiece for Thanksgiving dinner. I moved it to the top of the refrigerator. Turns out that Radar is a high jumper. He flew up to the plant, slipped, and then, pathetically, hung from the top of the refrigerator until he slid down to the floor.

Knowing that my kids would be heartsick if the cat got cactus flower poisoning, I locked the centerpiece in the bathroom. I had lost round one. When I returned, I found Radar sitting on my book with his nose in my cup of coffee. Since I did not know how to move him off the table, I retrieved my coffee, left the book to him and grabbed a magazine.  I won round two.

At that, Radar decided to change tactics. He walked across the table, put his little face close to mine and now we were nose to nose. He stared at me with his mesmerizing green eyes and purred when I petted him. Our battle was a draw.

At that point, I poured a little cream into his bowl, and in no time flat we became good friends. I still didn’t let him into my room, but when he got into trouble, I didn’t tell. But then, with a wink, he didn’t tell on me either.

Since I have returned home, I think of Radar often---especially when I pull long cat hairs off of my black slacks.

Esther Blumenfeld (“Meow means ‘Woof’ in cat”) George Carlin

EPIC EXPERIENCE

One extremely hot summer Monday, I decided to go to a movie in the early afternoon. The Exodus movie, “Gods and Kings” was featured at a new trendy theatre which advertized comfortable reclining chairs, blankets, pillows and well-prepared meals served at your seat.

I knew the ticket would be a bit pricey, but I was game for the, “put your feet up and enjoy the movie” experience. The theatre lobby was most impressive with its full-service bar and dining tables.  Approaching the ticket booth, I was instructed to choose my seat location. Since it was the first show in the afternoon, I had my pick of seats, and when I entered the theatre, I discovered that I was going to have a private showing, since I was the only one in the audience.

Climbing into my reserved reclining seat, I began to study the seat controls. I pushed the first button, and suddenly flew back into a total reclining position, which gave me a spectacular view of the theatre ceiling. A gentle voice said, “ I think you probably want to adjust that,” whereupon my movie waitress brought me back to a sitting position. She also said, “Your light is blinking.” Sure enough, the light next to my seat was doing that. “Can I take your order?”

The cheapest item on the menu was an ice cream cone, so I ordered that. When she left, I figured I still had some time to get familiar with the seat controls, so I slowly began the reclining process again. This time my headrest reclined, but my shoulders didn’t move, so I switched to the leg control. That went pretty well as my legs slowly elevated. I stopped the upward movement when my ice cream arrived, because I found it awkward to eat ice cream with my head back and my feet in the air. So, I repositioned myself back to the starting position.

The theatre lights dimmed, but my waiter-theatre-light did not. I finished my ice cream and watched Christian Bale, who pretended to be Moses, rise up against the nasty Egyptian Pharaoh, Ramses. According to the script, they had been really good pals when they were children, but had a falling out when they grew up because Moses decided to set 600,000 Jewish slaves free and skedaddle out of Egypt.

I slowly put my back into the reclining position and raised my feet on an incline. Now my tailbone was in a leather bucket.  In the meantime, Ramses got really stubborn and refused to let Moses and the slaves leave. So, God, who suspiciously sounded like Darth Vader, visited the Egyptians with some really cinematically icky plagues. I was wearing flip-flops, so I watched fish die and frogs inhabit a stinking land, through the toes of my left foot. When the gnats and swarms of flies inhabited the earth, I decided it was time to raise my legs a bit more so I wouldn’t have to watch the livestock die.

When the Egyptians developed really ugly graphic boils (bad pimples) I decided it was time to push the reclining button way back, so I could count the tiles on the ceiling. Unfortunately, I sat up too soon as the locusts arrived.

The only plague that wasn’t featured was my reclining seat. Had Ramses been given one of those, he would have let Moses leave much sooner. So after Darth Vader finally smote the first born of the Egyptians, Ramses finally let everybody go. I think he said, “Get Out!”

By now, I was sitting up again. The sea had parted and Ramses, who obviously couldn’t make up his mind, began chasing Moses and the multitudes that had successfully crossed a big river. The waves were building up. Ramses and his army didn’t have surfboards, but they kept coming.

At that moment, the check for the ice cream was delivered, and the cheerful waitress lit a flashlight so I could pay my bill. The theatre lights came up. The movie was over, but I had missed the dramatic conclusion. 

After making sure that my chair didn’t have a life of its own, I climbed out and hurried back to my house.  Luckily, I had the book at home, and read the rest of the story while sitting up straight in my favorite chair.

Esther Blumenfeld

HOME COOKING---NOT AT MY HOUSE YOU DON'T!

Everything my mother learned about cooking came from my grandmother. Big mistake!

My grandmother made only one delicious dish, but I had to develop a nasty cold for her to prepare it. At the hint of a sniffle, she’d separate a raw egg and stir the yellow yolk with sugar and whiskey. Then she’d add the beaten egg white to the now frothy mixture, and feed it to me. I’m not sure it ever cured a cold, but the more whiskey she added, the better I felt. The concoction did have a name, but I can’t spell it.

My mother was a beautiful woman who loved to laugh and have fun, but cooking was not her forte. She didn’t really care what foods went together as long as she got them on the table in time for dinner. Therefore, it wasn’t unusual to be served an extremely well done steak with a few red crab apples perched on top. Salami and baloney sandwiches on rye bread, slathered with chicken fat. became a staple for lunch. I was so happy when my friends’ mothers served me peanut butter.  Like Grandma, Mother did have one redeeming dish. Her chicken soup was delicious. Which only goes to show that no one is perfect.

Life was so much easier when we didn’t know what foods were bad for us. Today, when I smell burnt toast, I become nostalgic for Mama’s cooking.

Frank Tyger said, “Discoveries are often made by not following instructions, by going off the main road; by trying the untried.” That’s the way I cook. I kind of look at recipe instructions and then I improvise.  Of course that’s not being scientific, because I can rarely replicate the dish. However, sometimes that is a very good thing.

Someone once said, “A recipe is a series of step-by-step instructions for preparing with ingredients you forgot to buy, using utensils you don’t own, to make a dish even the dog won’t eat.” W.C. Fields had the right idea when he said, “I cook with wine. Sometimes, I even add it to the food.”

I’ll drink to that!

Esther Blumenfeld (“The kitchen is a walk through at my house”) Johanna Stein.

GETTING OFF THE FENCE

Often, making a decision is difficult. I’m not sure that Queen Elizabeth chooses her own hats. It would be so much easier if she could blame an underling on the day that she looks as if someone had dumped a plate of spaghetti on her royal head.

I recently realized that I had fallen into the trap of over thinking---worrying too much about the future---about decisions that I may or may not have to make. I have vowed to stop driving my friends crazy. I have made the decision that by not making a decision, I am making a decision. Richard Bach said, “The best way to avoid responsibility is to say, “I’ve got responsibilities.” However, like it or not, everyday we are confronted with choices.

A newly wed once told me, “Being married is great! Finally, I can have cheese and popcorn for dinner without my mother scolding me.” Often choices involve how much you want to get out of your comfort zone. As far as I know, the young bride never fed her husband some crispy grasshoppers, but, sadly, the marriage didn’t last.

Mr. Google gives us these rules for making decisions:

1. Think about what you are doing before you do it. My husband and I came to Tucson in the summer. The temperature was 105 degrees. We bought a house in a week.

2. Avoid rash decisions. When our son, Josh asked us. “What did you do on your vacation?” My husband said, “We bought a house.”

3. Don’t over think. It causes stress.  Our son was speechless for the first time in his life.

4. Trust yourself and have faith in your instincts. We loved our realtor, Diane. She invited us to her home for a party. She and her husband went to San Diego for the rest of the summer, and we stole many of their friends.

I always told my son, “Are you going to regret the choices you made, or the ones you didn’t make? Follow your dreams while you are young,” Consequently; he pursued careers in science, journalism, flying, theatre, meteorology, and television. As a Science Writer for NASA, he has been able to combine many of his past experiences, and he better never say, “I wish I had.” Flying lessons were, of course, the hardest on his parents.  When I asked him, “How are the lessons coming along?”  He said, “Great!” but I have to perfect my landings.” A mother does not want to hear that!

Everything in life is timing. Playing the, “Would’a, Could’a, Should’a“ game is not productive. There is no time machine to send us back. The best I can figure out is that it is always a good idea to base my choices on the facts at hand rather than fiction, and to see the big picture.  If that doesn’t work, I can always toss a coin.

Mark Twain said, “People fall into three categories: Those who make things happen. Those who watch things happen. And, those who are left to ask, ‘What happened?’”

Esther Blumenfeld (“ If Pavlov tested his cat, he would have failed.”) Patrick H.T. Doyle

BLAME THE BRAIN

 Sitting on an airplane, on my way to London, got me to thinking about space. No, not the vast space of the floating astronauts, but rather the crammed cabin space afforded an airplane passenger. Why is it so uncomfortable to be jammed close to a stranger?

Anthropologist, Edward T. Hall, set forth the notion of personal space in 1966, when he introduced the concept of proxemics, describing the physical distances people try to keep from one another. He broke it down into: intimate space, personal space, social space and public space.  Later scientists discovered a brain structure called the amygdalae in each temporal lobe that controls fear and the processing of emotion.

So, when someone says, “Get out of my face!” They are not just being rude; it’s their amygdalae talking. The intimate zone is reserved for lovers, close friends, children and some family members (unless they are “Get-out-of-my-face relatives). Personal space is a bit more complicated. It depends on what distance is comfortable for you. It involves setting boundaries. If you are talking to someone, and they take a step back, it’s a tip off that you are invading their personal space.

President Lyndon Johnson would get his way by backing an adversary into a wall, and confronting him nose to nose. Personal space is also affected by a person’s position in society. Rich people expect a lot of personal space. That’s why they prefer a limousine to a subway at rush hour.

The first time I rode a subway at rush hour in New York, I stood hanging on to an overhead strap, and a little man with a beard rested his chin on my arm. There was nowhere for me to escape, except to imagine that I was on the Mongolian steppes instead of a subway. Even rich people don’t go there.

By replicating, “The dining room place setting experiment,” you can test the---“Too close for comfort” theory. When everyone is seated at the table, slowly move your water glass, and then your cutlery, and plate into your neighbor’s space. Eventually, he will move his place setting.

My husband’s, Uncle Max was an expert in invading social space. He hated asparagus. At one dinner party, when the stranger on his left was engaged in conversation, with the person on her left, he surprised her by dumping his asparagus on her plate. She kept right on talking and eating, and never knew what hit her space.

 Social space is reserved for conversation with friends, a chat with associates or group discussions. I’m sure there is an overlap of invasion here when someone gets too close for comfort at a cocktail party. One woman managed to splash red wine on my shoes, while at the same time spitting on my silk dress. I don’t remember the gossip, but it was juicy.

The last invasion of space is public space. Ever spread your blanket on a deserted beach. For some reason, that is an invitation for a family with bratty children to plop next to you, while kicking sand on both you and your space.

Recently, a classmate, recuperating from hip surgery, parked her car in an empty space in the empty parking lot. It gave her room to deal with her foot brace, maneuver her books and get to her walker. Inextricably, another classmate parked on the driver’s side of her car. Explaining her dilemma, she asked the woman to park her car elsewhere. So, the woman moved her car to block the passenger side of my classmate’s car. That way, she couldn’t get to her books and walker. It was a “Get out of my space” moment.

 When someone cuts in front of you, at a checkout line at the grocery store, you might want to try standing very close to that person. Push that cart as close as you can. It won’t make the line move faster, but with will play havoc with his amygdalae.  And, if you want to really test the theory of public space, the next time you get on an elevator, instead of not making eye contact and facing the doors, try facing the people on the elevator and say, “We have to stop meeting like this!”  But be sure to get off on the next floor.

Esther Blumenfeld (“I’m the only person standing between Richard Nixon and the White House.”) John Kennedy