A BUNCH OF SHORT TAKES

The spring is in the air for me when I visit one of the many bargain hunter's stores and peruse a fresh crop of flip flops. By the same token, sandals or flip flops in August are sold on clearance because the season is over; it is over for everyone but yours truly that is, for whom August is just a second beginning for sandal season (end usually comes mid October).

A glass or can of Diet Coke is a true staple in Modern American cuisine. I rediscovered it this Spring when my date decided to dare the fare in an Indian restaurant, agonized for almost half an hour about his order, finally ordered, and completed his order with, you guessed it, a can of Diet Coke.

This past February my body performed its usual winter routine and succumbed to some kind of vile bug which necessitated my taking antibiotics and, consequently, being quarantined from my yummy gnomes. I decided to use my "time off" wisely and do the usually unthinkable for me stuff, mainly: beautify myself a bit. As part of that routine I got a hair cut in Manhattan. Even though I lucked out and ended up paying about six dollars more than I would have paid had I gone to my usual half dump next to my house, the excellent service I received felt like I overpaid at least a twenty. The poor hairdresser, though, got the shock of her life when she asked me what products I usually use for my hair. "Shampoo and conditioner" was my reply. Ah, the priceless look on her face and the exclamation "that's all?"

This past Sunday I was able, to use a Yiddish expression, shep nachas. My sister's kids apparently absorbed the profound lessons I have been giving them: for about five minutes they were busy sticking their tongues and blowing raspberries at one another, smiling all the time.

Even the most expensive neighbourhood in our fair city, otherwise known as Upper East Side, is not protected from two things that plague the entire New York City: the constant drilling of the rodes and side walks, and the dog poop.

Apparently, poor Bard scares more people than just the professors at Teachers College. I remember when in my second to last semester at college the head of our English Department went around asking people if anyone would be interested in a class on Victorian literature, one girl looked at her with scared eyes and timidly asked "Would we have to read Shakespeare?"

My slightly elevated body temperature is, like almost everything in life, both a blessing and a curse. The biggies appreciation, though, came two Sundays ago, when my nephew took an unheard of before three hour nap in my warm embrace.

Dentists scare everyone bar none. I rediscovered it a while ago when I was walking home one fine evening and was accosted by a self-proclaimed psychic who wanted to tell me about great love waiting for me in the near future. To that wonderful news I replied that I was just returning from a dentists' office and could not really pay her much attention at the time. This defense worked like a charm, and I was allowed to continue on my way without further forays into my non-existing love live.

The concept of wine with six percent alcohol content exists exclusively on the Kosher market. Poor friends of my brother's have discovered this interesting fact last New Year. He naively recommended to them getting the above mentioned six percent champagne for the festivities. Poor wine store clerks and poor NYU students, both wasting about half an hour in total confusion!

Desperation brings forth talents that you otherwise would have never suspected you had. A couple of months ago my niece was stuck with a poorer substitute for her usual bather (Mama), namely me. Understandably, she protested the injustice of the situation. So, in desperation, I handed her an extra wash cloth and tried to show that it produces bubbles on its own. When that tactic was meet with a lukewarm success, I boldly continued. I took another washcloth and told the poor child that we are going to play a game and sing a song, and then I proceed to sing a song of my own composition that went something like this: "scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub. Scruby little Eh, scrub, scrub. Scrub a left hand, scrub a right hand, scrub, scrub, scrubity scrub, scrub, scrub". The melody was also of my own invention and went along the lines of an exercise for the right hand for the beginning piano students. Anyway, imagine my surprise, when a few weeks after that episode the big gnome was stuck with me at bath time again. She smiled, run to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, found a pack of those disposable wash clothes, took one out, and started rubbing her little hand with it, smiling at me and saying "scwub, scwub".

Found on one of the many, many accessories I got from the Disney store: "Laughter is timeless. Imagination has no age. And dreams are forever."