For Rent

 

Me as Jane, Aladdin's wisecracking genie

I spent my entire first 20-year career (I career in 20-year batches) performing in our children’s theatre plays, always pretending to be someone else. I portrayed everyone from Smee the pirate in Peter Pan, to Marie Curie in Science People. These were not subtle impersonations; my interpretations were super-energetic and rather slapstick-y. But to our four-year-old audiences, I WAS Cinderella, Alice in Wonderland, etc. I felt like quite the celeb on the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk when a tiny tot would point and shout, “Mommy! It’s Snow White!” 

 

I’m long retired from show biz, and I no longer hide behind comic characters. I still identify with actors, though, especially those who are just scraping by, waiting for the elusive Big Break. Steve and I watched Rental Family the other night, starring Brendan Fraser as just such an actor. Fraser plays Philip, an American living in Japan, whose main claim to fame is playing a tube of toothpaste in a commercial. He ends up working for a company called Rental Family, which provides performers for actual life situations. Philip is tapped to be the “father” a little girl has never met, to increase the child’s chances of being accepted at an exclusive private school. Over time, he becomes emotionally involved with the family and—well, I won’t spoil this excellent movie for you. 

 

I had assumed the premise was not based on real life, but soon learned that, in Japan, these agencies really exist. You can saunter in and rent a groom for your wedding, or mourners for your funeral. Japanese society has certain rigid rules of conduct, and these pretend place-holders serve an important function—to be cover for a person operating outside the norms.

 

America has no such emphasis on conformity, so I doubt the idea would be popular here. In the USA, you can basically do whatever the heck you want, as long as you aren’t breaking the law (and, as we’re discovering, even lawbreaking no longer matters much).

 

But, if things were different, I could imagine myself as a person-renter. Several times in my life, I’d have loved to hire a surrogate to have a difficult conversation with a co-worker, or to beef up attendance at my birthday party, or to take my driver’s test for me.

 

How about you? What aspects of YOUR life would you love to outsource to a stranger? How about a “boyfriend” to break up with, and fool your folks? How about hiring a “chauffeur” to impress a visiting client? Do you agree that constructing a fabulous You 2.0 would be fun?

 

On second thought, I have a tough enough time keeping reality straight. Instead of paying for extra people to role-play and enhance my image, maybe I’d better just focus on being unexciting me, doing my best in real life interactions. 

 

I won’t look like a big winner, for sure, and I most definitely will continue to mess up. 

But on the bright side, the honesty will be good for my budget. 

Scamalot!

my sweet and too-trusting mother

While I certainly do miss her, I am grateful that my mom passed away in 2006, before the Internet became the morass it is today. It was bad enough that any random anonymous caller could (and did) keep Mom on the telephone for an hour. I can’t imagine what a financial pickle my mother would be in, were she to have been on the receiving end of scam emails. I feel so badly for my friends who are navigating this mess with their own elderly parents these days. 

And most disgusting of all are the creeps who call, pretending to be a relative in trouble (a nephew in police custody needing bail money, or a sister begging for $$$ to get home quickly from East Westvania). 

 

Not to brag, but I bet I'm probably the target of more scams than you are. I’ve learned to spot them, but early on I nearly fell for this scary message: “I’m from Microsoft, and you have a computer virus. If you let me take over your computer screen, I will fix it for you.” My favorites are the sloppy con people who send you emails with fishy addresses like Yourbank@geemail.com; “Gee,” I don’t think so! 

 

And lemme tell you, the tricksters are getting trickier every day. No more the easily-spotted, often misspelled pleas from Nigerian princes! No, with the help of A.I., the writing is smooth, and shows a very unsettling knowledge of their mark (moi). Here’s a recent email from one Carole M. Larson, Book Consultant (whatever the heck that is):

 

Hi Elise Seyfried,

 

I recently came across Everyday Matters and was genuinely drawn to its warmth, humor, and grounded spirituality. The way you illuminate the sacredness of ordinary life parenting, aging, faith, and daily routines creates a deeply relatable and comforting experience for readers who are seeking meaning in the midst of everyday chaos.

 

Books like Everyday Matters tend to resonate quietly but powerfully over time. Rather than relying on trends, they find loyal readers through trust, word-of-mouth, and thoughtful discoverability especially among faith-based audiences, parents, and readers drawn to reflective, spiritually grounded nonfiction.

 

And, cleverer still, the famous writers who suddenly want to be my pen pal: Stephen King...Nora Roberts...George Saunders... how flattering that these busy, super-successful authors have time to reach out to little old me with the digital hand of friendship!

 

Much like the flim-flammers of old, the 2026 versions are quite charming, and poised to take full advantage of people's naïveté and good nature. Well, joke’s on them! I am both sophisticated and crabby! They won’t get one dime of the $59.72 in MY bank account!

 

Seriously, though, I dream of a better world, in which this type of individual uses their smarts for good. I can see a reformed con artist pretending to be our president, on a call to Putin, and actually ending the Ukraine war.

 

Forget that--no one on earth would believe Trump was suddenly a master negotiator.

 

Not even Mom.

I'm a Poet, and I Know It!

Move over, Bard of Avon! It's the Bard of Oreland!

I’ve been reading tons of poetry lately, most of it pretty good. While I wrote a library-load of poems in my youth, with a renaissance during my bipolar crisis, I do not, generally, wax poetic. 

I much prefer other literary forms--personal essay, Op-Ed, grocery list. But having consumed a whole lotta rhymes recently, to say nothing of pages-long free verse epics, I feel inspired, and empowered, to throw my Shakespearean hat in the ring once more, and see what develops! 

 

But how to select from the smorgasbord of poetic choices?

 

I considered penning limericks, or villanelles, or cinquains, before settling on two: the Japanese haiku form, and the sonnet. 

 

The haiku’s plusses include: brevity (17 syllables total) focus (nature, or a specific, vivid moment in time), and an undeniable cool factor. 

 

The sonnet is a bit of a show-off ("I'm cleverer! Read me!" ) but I I feel like it’s more of a legit poem, right? I mean, who goes around bragging that they have a haiku memorized? Whereas sonnetizing is pretty darned impressive! I will rise to the ABAB CDCD EFEF GG challenge!

 

Shall we embark then, my verse-loving friends?

 

HAIKU WHILE-U-WAIT  

 

Forgotten milk in the fridge

Well past its expiration date

Gone from drinkable to edible

 

Manhattan’s soot-covered snow mounds

NY kid me thought

Every snowman was filthy dirty

 

My son forages, 

Then sautés his mushroom finds.  

Enjoy them! I’ll pass

 

Loved Wild Kingdom,

Mutual of Omaha!

But I went with Progressive

 

ROMANTIC SONNET 

 

My love for you is like a first-class flight

With champagne cocktails and no baggage fees

Like Magic Kingdom fireworks at night

Like endless boneless wings at Applebee's

 

My passion is as strong as Crazy Glue

That I spilled (oops!) onto your brand-new rug

The carpet is forever stuck on you,

As I am stuck as well! Let’s have a hug!

 

I cling to you, my object of desire,

Like Cling Wrap on a pack of burger meat

My adoration burns like a grease fire

From frying pork chops at too high a heat

 

I’m out of words and so I close, you see

Now it’s your turn to write your love for me

 

BREAKUP SONNET

 

I waited for your poem. It never came.

So much for rhyming what was in my heart!

That was a waste of time, and quite a shame

I’ll just take my thesaurus and depart.

 

No point in saying sorry--it’s too late!

I’m off to find a man who’s worth the work.

I’m off to find a much more grateful date

Than YOU, you boor! You clod! You dud! You jerk!

 

I’ve learned my lesson. I will never share

My writing talents with another guy.

I’m done with love! I vow, I pinky-swear!

No more the joy, no more the anguished cry!

 

But wait—Is that a sonnet that I see?

All’s forgiven! (if your poem’s for me)!

 

Woo hoo! Going forward, every single blog post will be in iambic pentameter. Promise!

 

Hey! Where are you going?

GOOD HOUSEKEEPING

I always say I love my house’s “lived in look.” I mean, who wants to spend time in a clean and tidy abode? Pretty boring stuff, right? Chez Seyfried, adventure is always just around the corner. It’s a real challenge to step over, not on, the Legos scattered on the floor. There’s sure to be a snack for visitors, and sometimes the pretzels even come pre-chewed by baby Dimitri! 

Seriously, though, I am a halfway decent housekeeper. I comfort myself by remembering my mom Joanie, who was not even a 1% of the way decent housekeeper. My sisters and I spent our formative years in clutter and disarray. To this day, I can’t properly make a bed or hand wash a dish. I can vacuum, though--but that’s only because vacuuming was one of the two chores Mom did with any enthusiasm, singing Gershwin and Cole Porter tunes at the top of her lungs. Her other favored chore? Ironing, believe it or not. Now, she wasn’t any good at it, but ironing in front of the TV was something productive she could do while she watched “As the World Turns.” I never had the slightest desire to operate an iron, and nowadays, with all the permanent press clothing items, I'll never have to!

 

Every few years, I compare myself to a GOOD housekeeper, and those are sad, sad days. After wallowing in self-pity, I wallow on over to my laptop. There, I read about cleaning customs from around the world, some of which are very entertaining.  After an hour or so online, I’m ready to go back to ignoring my messy house for another couple of years.

 

But just the other day, I read about a fabulous practice from Germany. It’s called  lüften, which means “house burping.” No, they don’t throw their three-bedroom dwellings over their shoulders and pat them gently on their exteriors. This kind of burping involves opening all the doors and windows wide every day for about 10 minutes, especially in winter. The idea behind this ritual? The average house is just a big container full of stale air. The occupants have to breathe that air, which makes them more prone to sicknesses. A bracing “burp” exchanges musty dusty inside air for clean and delightful outside air, PLUS a little snow and sleet, maybe!  Excitement abounds!

 

OK, this is genius. My grandkids would adore being the opener-uppers. They would especially love the idea of “burping," as this is already a favorite pastime. Also, they are already pros at leaving doors ajar, so this would be a natural progression. Every morning, I’d station Aiden upstairs and Peter downstairs. I’d count to three (or, to be authentic, to "drei") and then blow a whistle. That would be the signal for the boys to start racing around, yanking open the windows, welcoming Mother Nature into our happy, if frosty, home. 

 

And what seals the deal for me? I can get that healthful “fresh air” without ever having to go for a single walk! Win-win!

 

 

 

my favorite burper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Personality in Six TV Commercials

  

 

There’s a terrific book of essays by Kathleen Norris and Gareth Higgins. It’s called A Whole Life in Twelve Movies, and a small group of my friends has gathered regularly after watching each suggested film, to discuss the relevance of said film to the stages of our lives. For example, the first movie/essay combo was 2001: A Space Odyssey, and the life stage was “waiting to be born”. Other chosen flicks include The Fisher King (the breaking and remaking of self), Malcolm X, (vocation) and Babette’s Feast. (generosity). Our sharing has been deep and meaningful, and it’s been a great experience.

 

Which means, of course, I am compelled to write a parody of it. I’m calling mine:

 

MY PERSONALITY IN SIX TV COMMERCIALS 

A listing of ads that speak to me (and about me)…

 

Here goes!

 

#1 I HAVE A SHORT ATTENTION SPAN

SKITTLES

Any of the brief, weird “taste the rainbow” ads, especially the one where the guy is milking a giraffe and Skittles pour out. Keeps me focused for the entire 20 seconds.

 

#2 I’M VERY TALKATIVE

HUMIRA ARTHRITIS MEDICATION

The rat-a-tat voiceover of doom at the end:

“HumirahasbeenknowntocauseinfectionsandcancersincludinglymphomakidneyliverthyroidandeyelashcancerdonottakeHumiraifyouhavetestedpositiveforTBscurvyorhaveapositiveattitudeaskyourdoctorifhumiraisrightforyoubutevenifhesaysyesitcankillyousothisisyourwarning.” 

 

I’m not THAT bad. Am I?

 

#3 I’M RATHER BOSSY

PALMOLIVE DISH LIQUID

The oldie featuring overbearing manicurist Madge, who insists on soaking her customers’ fingers in Palmolive Liquid “because it softens hands while you do dishes.” Her patrons probably haven’t washed a dish in their lives, but they are too terrified of Madge to request actual hand lotion instead. I can be quite Madge-like at times (ask my fam).

 

#4 I’M FUNNY-ISH 

It is generally accepted that I do have a sense of humor of some sort. I find the emu and the talking lizard in insurance ads unbearable. If you think those are a riot, we may not see eye to comic eye. Instead, I really enjoy the snarky PROGRESSIVE (also insurance, hmmm?) commercials where the guy is teaching people not to be like their parents. If you also like those, you’ll probably find me funny-ish.

 

 

#5 I’M SMART-ISH

 

My intelligence level is a matter of opinion. My fourth grade teacher Sister Mary Brendan told me I was too smart for my own good. That said, I identify with the classic Partnership for a Drug-Free America’s THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS ad, which I credit for both my terror of losing what brain cells I still do possess, and my lingering fear of fried eggs.

 #6 I’M AFFECTIONATE

I will never hold a candle to my warm and fuzzy mom Joanie, but I do sprinkle my convos with plenty of “honeys” and “sweeties,” and if you are in arm’s reach of me you WILL be hugged. Guaranteed.I had to choose between commercials for Huggies diapers and Hershey Hugs chocolates. Unsurprisingly, HERSHEY HUGS won (though Huggies is another fine product, one I purchased quite often for the diaper needs of my five babies).

 

There you have it! 

 

How about you? What songs/plays/books/etc. would sum YOU up?