To Weigh or Not to Weigh

As you may recall, I have a love-hate relationship with my bathroom scale, which currently resides underneath the bureau in my bedroom. It used to live in the basement. I’ve since retrieved it from exile; however, it’s still not on my list of favorite household items.

The past few months I’ve been getting on the scale once a week. Most times I’m down 1-3 pounds. I like this. It starts off my day with a few fireworks.

So yesterday, I hopped on the dreaded beast and I’m up 2 pounds. OK. How? I pondered this a while and then got back on the scale and  was down 3. Not sure if I needed a stronger eyeglass prescription, I climbed back on and was up 4. At this point I was so disgusted, that I shoved the beast back under the bureau and resolved never to use  it again.

So how to really know my weight loss? Sure, I can figure out I’ve lost weight by the fact that none of my clothes fit. But if I want a proper reading I need to get on a scale.

Since my current beast is out of order I decided to bite the bullet and buy a new one (not husband…scale. You knew that, right?).

I was shopping with my friend Caroline and we went into the house wares section of a department store. They had 2 choices of scales. The clearly better one was over $60. I was flabbergasted. The last time I bought a scale it was something like $25. Ok, that was 10 years ago.  Well, I spit that bullet right out and decided to keep the old beast and just put in a new battery and voila…it works. And yes, I’ve lost a few more pounds.

Take that, you miserable old beast!!

Ode To A Band

Breakin’ up is hard to do...

After 20 years (12 for me) my local Boston band has decided to go our separate ways. The Mavens, or Musical Mavens as some people knew us was a Jewish band specializing in Yiddish Theatre music.

We had our good times, our bad times and over many years we did lots and lots of gigs. We even did an Italy tour. We were together through babies, Bar Mitzvahs, weddings, deaths, graduations and job promotions. It was real.

But all good things must come to an end. Well, not really, but in this case it was getting old. When the gigs become fewer and fewer because everybody local has heard us dozens of times, it’s time to move on. And so, we put it to a close.

So then we have the property. Who gets what? Well, over the years we accumulated so much crap,er, gear. It belonged to us, the band. We sorted through most of it and decided what should get tossed and what we should keep. But who should claim custody? Keyboard, a gazillion cables, mics, mic stands, speakers, amps…ok…you guessed right. At the moment a good part of it is in my car waiting to be transferred to my already loaded basement. After all, I’m still in several other bands. Granted they are in Trieste, but we do gigs here at least once a year so the equipment is necessary. And the things that are unnecessary? Craig’s List is a beautiful thing.

Then there are the web sites, which I handle. Should I cancel them? Should I just let them sit? myspace and PureVolume are free sites. Might as well let people enjoy the music on them. OK, for the time being I’ll just leave them alone.

It was a bittersweet last meeting, but I know we’ll all see each other again. Thanks for the memories, Mavens. We had a good run.

Dedicated to my bandmates: Beth Aaronson, Kenny Fine, Mikey Klein and in loving memory of Linda Rose who was the most MAVEN of us all.

Big Mama

Growing old in inevitable. Feeling old is optional. The saying goes, you are only as old as you feel. Ok, sometimes I feel like I’m 110, but that’s on a day where the night before I’ve had little or no sleep.

Most of the time I feel pretty young. That’s a neat trick considering I’m 56. It’s a simple theory really. Think young but lean on experience.

I am more than twice the age of most of my band mates. I also have more energy than they do. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the vitamins. But what I do know is that being around young people keeps me young. That and a good moisturizer.

My band mates are my Italian children and I am their American mom. Big Mama. Of course in another year the “big” will not be necessary, but I’ll keep it anyway. When we rehearse and play concerts we are equals. On the road, I am the mama, providing the vitamin C, Tylenol, Advil, band-aids, tissues, tic tacs, gum and all the other stuff mommies carry in their Mary Poppins carpet bags.

Just because I feel young, doesn’t mean I can behave like a 25 year old. While they’re scarfing down fast food burgers and fries, I’m picking at a salad or sipping a coffee. When they want to go out and party post gig, I curl up in bed with a book. Actually, to be fair, most of my band mates are not the let’s-get-drunk-party-types. Post gig is usually: break it down, load it up, empty it out and get some dinner. By the time that’s over, it’s 3 am and bed is inevitable.

Sure, I wouldn’t mind being 15 years younger. But music has no age limits. As long as my vocal cords can keep up with me, we’re gonna keep going strong right into the golden years. Sing it sistah!!

Tanti baci ai miei bambini Italiani:

 Samu, Maddy, Colo, Eliana, Saverio, Raffa, Chiara e il mio fratello Davide. And also: Manuele, Fabrizio and Martina who happen to live right here in Boston. For the moment. You guys keep me young.

Like I said, feeling old is optional. I’m not choosing that option any time soon!

Shabbat Shalom and Hag Sameah!

Every July 3 we have a cookout at the Garfield homestead. We eat, we walk to the beach and watch fireworks and then we eat some more. And inevitably every year someone asks, “Where is the cheese for the burgers?”

The answer is: there is no cheese. And why? Because this is a kosher home. We don’t mix dairy products with meat products. It’s a lot more complicated than that and this is why I have invited a special guest to explain the rules of kashrut: 

I don’t consider myself a religious person at all. I keep a kosher home because it’s a tradition in my family. I also know that some of my friends are kosher and therefore they can eat meat in my home. Or chicken. My home is kosher. I’m not.

How does one know if they are walking into a kosher kitchen? Look around. Notice the MANY cabinets. Keeping kosher means a lot of dishes means a lot of cabinets. And I only use the dishwasher for dairy. Some homes have 2 dishwashers. I have enough trouble getting my husband and son to load or empty one, let alone two.

These days I’m not as observant as I used to be. I work on Shabbat (the Sabbath) and I rarely go to services. Except for Friday evenings.

Every Friday at sundown is the beginning of Shabbat. I have a standing gig playing for a service at one of the conservative synagogues in the Boston area.

I play keyboard or piano; depending on which room we’re in. I sing, mostly harmony, with the cantor of the synagogue.  It’s a warm, wonderful evening and lasts for about an hour, sometimes longer. A lot of the same people come each week and it’s a fun, happy group. We sing, we daven (pray) and we have a good time. We change melodies all the time so the service is never boring. We have cool melodies. I even sneak in some rock beats when I can (always the prog rock musician).

For me, this service is a relaxing wind-down after a long but unfinished week. Yes, it’s employment but it’s also spiritual. It’s a true feel good evening. No stress.

There are two wonderful people who make the evening so special: Emil, who is the cantor, a dear friend and a great musician and Becky, who reads this blog faithfully and is there every Friday night waiting for me to do glissandos on the piano. She even counts the amount of times I do a gliss. That’s loyalty!

Tonight starts the holiday of Passover, so there will be no service. We will be ensconced in Seders all over the place. More about Pesach in another post. It’s involved.

So a happy, healthy kosher Pesach to those of my friends who observe.

And of course…Shabbat Shalom!