What Does a Woman Want?

That supposed smart guy Sigmund Freud may not have been as smart as we thought.   His friend Marie Bonaparte ,  the great-grandniece of Emperor Napoleon,  a French author and analyst herself,  once sought treatment from the renown psychoanalyst for her own sexual problems.

Famously Freud asked her,  “The great question that has never been answered despite my research into the feminine soul is – what does a woman want?“

Her response is unknown,  but I venture to guess she’d been listening to 4 Non Blondes  and  so she may have said,  “Isn’t it obvious Herr Doktor?  We just want to know what’s going on!”

RetroFlash / 100 Words

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

Melting (Soup) Pot

One afternoon taking a break between chores I stopped for lunch at the 2nd Ave Deli,  one of my favorite eastside haunts.

After a leisurely meal I was waiting on line to pay my tab when I overheard the following conversation at the take-out counter:

Young Asian woman:   “What soup do you have today?”

Old deli guy:  “Split pea,  lentil,  mushroom & barley,  chicken noodle,  chicken & rice,  vegetable,  and kreplach.” 

Young Asian woman:  “Kreplach?”

Old deli guy:  “Jewish dumpling.”

Young Asian woman:  “Ah, that sounds good,  I’ll take a quart.”

Did I tell you I ❤️ New York?

RetroFlash / 100 Words

– Dana Susan Lehrman

 

Lyrics and Lyricists

When we moved to the Upper Eastside many years ago,  we never imagined how much time we’d spend at the 92nd St Y.

My husband joined the gym and swam several times a week in their Olympic-size pool;  I became a Poetry Center member and twice or thrice a month I heard the most acclaimed writers of the day read from their latest works;  and we enrolled our toddler in a wonderful children’s art class called Red,  Yellow,  Blue,  and Glue.

One year at the Y I learned to use a potter’s wheel;  and a few years running I had Sunday morning bagels there as literary biographers talked about their subjects in a series called Biography and Brunch;  and one year I took a memoir-writing class;  and twice at the Y I read James Joyce’s masterpiece Ulysses.

And for many years I used the Y’s wonderful members’  library until sadly it closed.   A librarian myself,  I bonded with the Y librarian,  now a good friend.   And over the years we’d hear movers and shakers in every field from politics to science to the arts lecture at the Y,  and in the same elegant Y auditorium we enjoyed concerts in musical genres from classical to jazz.

In fact for more than 40 years we’ve subscribed to a concert series called  Lyrics and Lyricists.  In five concerts mounted between January and June,  L & L pays tribute to an American Song Book or a Broadway lyricist,  or a musical theatre theme,  with songs performed cabaret style by an always fabulous cast of singers and dancers.  And to the delight of loyal L & L fans,  each first act closes with an audience sing-along.

But each fall when our L & L tickets come in the mail,  I’m reminded of the time I almost landed myself in the doghouse.   That year when the series renewal letter arrived it somehow buried itself in my desk and was forgotten.  As January approached  I realized we hadn’t gotten our tickets and I called the Y box office in a huff to complain.

”Sorry,” I was told by the young lady on the phone,  “we have no record of your renewal.”

”That’s impossible,”   I said,  “we’re long-time subscribers,  we sit in the balcony, house right,  seats DD1 and DD3.  We’ve had those seats for years!”

“I’m sorry,”  she said again,  “but it seems this year you didn’t renew.”

I demanded to speak to the box office manager,  but he rebuffed me too.

“I’m sorry madam,”  he said,  “we didn’t receive your renewal and the dates you want are sold out.”

Then it dawned on me that with no cancelled check or credit card receipt to present,  indeed I may NOT have renewed.   It was time to bring out the big guns.

”Please sir,”  I cried,  you must give us back our seats,  we love Lyrics and Lyricists,  we’re loyal fans!”

”Sorry madam,”   he said,  “there’s nothing I can do.”

”But you must,”  I wailed   “my husband will kill me!” 

Between sobs I begged a bit longer until over the phone line I heard the box office manager heave a big sigh.

”Hold on please madam,”  he said,  “I’ll see what I can do.”

Soon he was back on the phone.

“Madam,  you’ve worn me down.”  he laughed,   “I’ve got your tickets.”

And so here we are back in the balcony,  house right,  seats DD1 and DD3,  getting ready to sing along!

– Dana Susan Lehrman

Sold Out!

I love theatre and go pretty regularly,  often with my fellow theatre-loving friend Babs.  And although we’re both pretty savvy about ordering tickets,  sometimes one or the other of us screws up,  and the last  time it was me.  Here’s the embarrassing story.

For years Babs and I have shared a subscription to 59E59,  a wonderful off-Broadway theatre company on East 59th Street whose mission is to bring new and innovative works to a New York audience.  We usually love what we see there and were looking forward to the next production.

We checked our calendars and found a good mutual date.  I wrote it in my little date book and told Babs it was my turn to call and reserve our tickets.

The next morning I phoned and got a recorded message saying the box office hadn’t opened yet and to call back after 12 noon.   But apparently I got busy and forgot.

Then on the morning of the fateful day I called Babs to say I’d be driving down from Connecticut that afternoon.   Rather than meet for dinner as we usually do before the theatre,  I said the tickets would be at the box office and we should meet at the seats and have a bite after the show.

Unfortunately I hit bad traffic and called Babs again to say I might not make the 7:00 curtain,  but would get there as soon as I could.

In fact it was close to 8:00 when I got to the theatre,  walked through the empty lobby,  and asked at the box office for my ticket.  Hearing my name the guy at the window told me to wait a moment while he called the manager.

”Ah madam,”  said the box office manager,  “your friend said to tell you she left since we don’t have your tickets,  and tonight’s performance is sold out.”

”But that’s impossible,  we’ve had a 59E59 subscription for years,  and I called weeks ago to reserve seats for tonight.  I even have it written in my appointment book!”.  I proclaimed angrily,  taking the little book from my bag and practically thrusting it in his face.

”Yes, I understand that you’re long-time subscribers,  and I see you noted it in your book,”  he said with the practiced patience of a box office manager,  “but it seems you never actually called to reserve tickets and unfortunately tonight we’re sold out.”

I realized of course he was right.

Embarrassed,  I called Babs at home to apologize,  afraid she’d be annoyed at me to say the least.  Her husband Bernard answered.

“She’s not home”,  he said,   “isn’t she at the theater with you?”

I called her cell phone.

“No problem,”  said my ever well-dressed friend Babs,  “Bloomingdales is open late tonight.” 

(I’m glad to say we saw the show a week later and it was great!)

– Dana Susan Lehrman