No, this is not an exposé about Sherlock Holmes overdosing on vitamins.  But it is a commentary about vitamins and other nutritional supplements guaranteed to improve your mental acuity, your energy level, your ability to stay awake past 7:30 PM and your overall quality of life or your money back, as seen on TV!

As one who watches entirely too much television and isn’t inclined to channel surf when a commercial interrupts my favorite Law and Order rerun, I tend to notice the advertisements.  And perhaps it’s because I’ve just added another candle to my cake that I’ve become acutely aware of the growing number of attractive-sounding nutritional titles that will restore just about everything my last bunch of birthdays left wanting.

And who doesn’t want a miracle? A miracle dangled before our eyes and ears by an $80 billion dollar a year industry.

So, with nothing to lose except money I could have spent on a spa weekend, I have decided to invest in one or more of these encapsulated fountains of youth.  The dilemma is, how to select which will be most beneficial for a body that is older than I am?

After much deliberation, here is my personal short list of OTC choices:

AG 1:  One scoop of the green stuff dissolved in the liquid of my choice promises that I will feel more energized and focused first thing in the morning, a serious temptation for one that does not come alive until after the second mugful of strong black coffee.

Prevagen:  One capsule in the morning will improve brain health, memory, concentration, and overall ability to think more clearly.  Perhaps the latter will aid me in figuring out what to do with all the new-found morning energy.

Super Beets/Super Grapes:  Normal blood pressure, improved blood flow, heart-healthy energy are but a few of the benefits of just two-a-day of these purple gummies.  And, if you add its first cousin, Super Grapes you will boost the production of your nitrous oxide.  And I ask you, can anyone really have too much nitrous oxide? Whatever that is.

Qunol Tumeric:  Just 3 capsules daily will improve your joint health, cardiovascular health, and immune system.  Tumeric is also a spice that is common in Asian cooking.  What I fear they are not telling you is that you will smell like the inside of a NYC taxicab.  Requires further investigation.

Qunol Magnesium:  Add 2 capsules of magnesium to your daily regiment and you’ll be amazed at the improvement in your nerve, bone, and muscle health.  I remember magnesium from high school chemistry.  I’m not sure how I feel about swallowing something with an atomic number!  (Caveat:  please note that magnesium is also the primary ingredient in some popular laxatives!)

Osteo Biflex:  If your goal is joint health, you might consider adding one tablet of Osteo Biflex.  And if you really want to go for it, try two tablets of the Triple Strength version.

Balance of Nature:  Imagine my shock at being told by a voice-over that I wasn’t getting enough fruits and vegetables in my daily diet!  But this deficiency could be easily remedied by purchasing two bottles of powdered produce packed into capsules.  Taking only three capsules from the bottle marked fruits, and three more from the bottle marked vegetables will alleviate my guilt and compensate for my lousy dietary habits.  And for a mere $89.95 my energy can be restored to pre-menopausal levels.

So, which of the above is best for me?  If I decide to improve my brain, will I be sacrificing my joints?  To increase my energy level do I have to forego heart health and blood pressure?

What if I took all of them?  Swallow 18 pills a day washed down with a tall glass of green stuff.  Will I really reap all the benefits described above, or will the only outcome be a very expensive pee? Will I sound like a baby’s rattle when I walk? And what will I do with all this excess energy? It sounds exhausting.

​Perhaps I need more time to figure this out.  In the interim, I wonder:  What would Sherlock do?


​

 Every February there is someone I like to honor, an important woman whose birthday should not be overlooked.  So, without apology, I repost this tribute.

Raise your hand if you know that today is the birthday of Susan B. Anthony.  As I thought.  Only one hand raised, and its mine.  Or maybe there was one other hand raised somewhere in the back row.  What a responsibility it has been all these years to be the only person in the room harboring this important piece of knowledge.

And how is it that I became the keeper of this factoid? The answer to this, and probably most of my other quirks, dates back, of course, to my childhood.  And to savings banks.  That’s right, savings banks.  In the days when savings banks looked like ancient marble mausoleums.  And had higher interest rates.  Additionally, if you walked into a bank in the 40s or 50s and opened a new account, you just might leave with a toaster or an electric wall clock.

Well, I must have grown up in the wrong neighborhood, because all our bank gave away was a paper calendar.   Pathetic as this giveaway was, my mother brought the calendar home and hung it on a wall in our kitchen.  And although the calendar could not brown your bread or tell the time, that’s not to say it wasn’t useful.  Each day was represented by a little square where you could inscribe an appointment, or some other reminder.  And the little square would also tell you if a particular day had a particular significance, like the Chinese New Year, or Mexican Flag Day, or when there would be a full moon.

My favorite page on the calendar was the month of February.  Little narcissist that I was, it was my favorite because it’s the month in which I was born.  The second week of February was just chock full of important days.  February 12 – Lincoln’s birthday; February 13 – my birthday.  Well, that wasn’t exactly printed on the calendar, but hand printed on it by me.  February 14 – St. Valentine’s Day.  And last but not least, February 15 – Susan B. Anthony’s birthday.  That lineup made me so proud.  I must be so special to be surrounded by all those important people! I confess at the time I had no knowledge of Susan B. Anthony, but I figured she must be an important person to have her own square.  As well as sharing my name.

And, oh yes, the following week, on February 22, there was a square marking the birth of George Washington.  (On today’s calendar, Lincoln and Washington are no longer entitled to their own birthdays, but have been efficiently combined into President’s Day, which typically falls on no one’s date of birth, but ensures a three-day weekend.)

As I got older, I did learn who Susan B. Anthony was, but sadly misunderstood what she represented.  To my 9-year-old ear, she fought for women’s “sufferage,” which made absolutely no sense to me at all.  You can surely understand why.  Also, that she was a suffer jet, which in today’s world, sounds like she played quarterback on a losing football team.  But as children we mishear lots of things, like Elephants Gerald, the jazz singer, Round John Virgin who’s mentioned in the song “Silent Night,” and Youth in Asia, who, horribly, were being murdered.

But I’m happy to say that by the time I was old enough to vote, it had all sorted itself out.  I developed a full appreciation of Susan B. Anthony’s place in history and her personal importance to me as a woman living in 2024, beyond the fact that we share a name.

She was born February 15, 1820 into a large Quaker family who were social activists, and active in the anti-slavery movement.  She became a teacher, and fought for equal pay for women, who were paid less than their male counterparts.  Sound familiar?  She recognized early on that if women were to have any power at all, they needed the right to vote.

In 1852 she joined with Elizabeth Cady Stanton in the Women’s Rights Movement, and dedicated the rest of her life to women’s suffrage. (See, I got it right this time.) Women who supported the cause were called suffragettes.  (Professional football didn’t even start until 1892.)  She never married, and traveled the country campaigning for abolition of slavery, and women’s rights.  Frederick Douglas became a good friend.

In November 1872 the Notorious SBA voted illegally in the US Presidential election, and was arrested.  She was found guilty by the judge and ordered to pay a fine of $100.  She refused to pay, and walked away.  The trial increased her profile, and her ability to raise funds, enabling her to spread her message of supporting equal rights for women.

She died in New York in 1906.  Fourteen years later, in 1920, women’s right to vote was guaranteed by the Nineteenth Amendment.

End of history lesson.  Hopefully, I’ve contributed to spreading the word about the importance of Susan B. Anthony.  And going forward, I will no longer be the only person in the room who knows that her birthday is February 15th.

Sitting on my desk right now is a contemporary appointment book.  Like the bank calendar in my mother’s kitchen, each day is represented by a little square.  Still listed on the February page are Mexican Flag Day, Chinese New Year, and St. Valentine’s Day.  Lincoln’s and Washington’s birthdays have been replaced by Presidents’ Day.  And Susan B. Anthony is notably absent.  So would you be so kind as to pencil it in?  And while you’re at it, although it’s over, mark down mine as well.
​

     Anthropomorphism, that’s what. You may not know the word, but I’ll bet you a month’s worth of Starbuck’s Chocolate Cream Cold Brew that you know what it is.  We all grew up with it.  Kids still do.  Mickey Mouse, Pluto, Bugs Bunny, Mr. Ed, talking teapots, minions, and the like.

Anthropomorphism, a multi-syllabic word that’s difficult to pronounce on one exhalation, is defined as the attribution of human characteristics or behaviors to a god, animal, or object.

Even as adults, we are constantly exposed to it in TV commercials:  talking lizards, bears selling toilet paper, a talking box imploring us to mail in our poop in order to screen for colon cancer.  (Tell me, in what universe should a person of sound mind be taking medical advice from a piece of cardboard?)

Frankly, I’m not a big fan of the “A” word.  The personification of an animal or an inanimate object is just a little too adorable for my taste.  (Except for the essay I wrote about Alexa.)  And I find some of the worst offenders to be the cutesy talking cat and dog memes that flood the internet.

So, you can imagine how I felt when the editor of a monthly publication for which I write told me they were devoting an entire issue to talking pets.  Instead of my usual humor column, would I please have my dog Sam write an article!

After a hearty “Oy!” and a deep sigh, I gave it a try.  And since today is Sam’s birthday (he’s 9 years old), and No. 2 Son has been visiting all week, I’ve decided to repost this essay.

                                         Oh, How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning
                                                                  By Sam Goldfein

Overall, I think I have a darn good life.  For a dog.  I’m adored by my people, walked several times a day, and allowed to run free in the dog park.

I’m fed two squares a day, in addition to the bits of food from their dinner plates.  They find my big, brown, pleading eyes simply irresistible.

To be perfectly honest, I’m more than a bit spoiled.  I’ve trained them to let me sit on the couch when they watch TV, and sleep in their bed, although I have a perfectly fine bed of my own.

When they can, they take me with them when they go out, and when they can’t I’ve learned to provoke just enough guilt to warrant a cookie before they go.

They regularly purchase my favorite chews from Amazon, and never ever run out of dog food.  I am secure in the sense that I’m at the center of their lives!

Annual trips to the vet keep me healthy, and visiting the groomer periodically keeps me gorgeous, although I admit it’s not my favorite destination.  I hate being wet.

In between groomings, my female person bathes me in the kitchen sink, but I always forgive her. So, you see, considering the alternate lives I may have had, I think I stepped in poop!

But as good as it is, no one’s life is perfect.  And that’s true of mine as well.  And since I’ve been given this column, I might as well use it to air my complaint.  I don’t think my person will think I’m being ungrateful.
She complains all the time.  In fact, she’s written a book about it, How to Complain When there’s Nothing to Complain About.

Did I mention that I let my people sleep with me? And that they recently bought a king-size bed? It’s about time they ditched that cramped mattress. Hardly room enough for three!

Now, each night as I’m lifted onto the bed, I feel as if I died and went to dog heaven.  I can choose to sleep up high, or down near the foot, with no arms or legs being flung across my back, and no fear of being poked in the middle of the night.

But my favorite spot is to nestle between the extra-large pillows and curl into a ball until I’m practically invisible.  And there, each night, I dream sweet dreams about being Snoopy’s co-pilot as he chases the Red Baron.  But alas, my dream is interrupted all too soon.  Unfortunately, my female person is an early riser.  Every morning, just as we are closing in on the Red Baron, I feel her stirring.  I know this means she will leave the bed, shower, dress, and then come for me!

I dive deeper into the pillows, trying hard to disappear.  My eyes tightly shut, pretending to snore, hoping she’ll take pity and let sleeping dogs lie.

But no.  I feel the collar snapping around my neck, and hear her say “Sam, it’s time to get up.”  I hesitate, but it’s no use.  She always wins.  Next thing I know the leash is on, and we’re out the door.  And the Red Baron escapes once again.

So, I hate the mornings.  I never get to sleep in.  Not even on the weekends.

But sometimes I forget that I’m living with retired people for whom TGIF no longer has any meaning.  I have no choice but to wake at the crack of dawn.  And that, folks, is the fatal flaw in an almost perfect dog’s life!