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!

Baked Potato Blues

Don’t get me wrong. I like baked potatoes. In fact I LOVE baked potatoes. I just don’t like LOOKING like a baked potato.

At work, we are required to wear uniforms. Most airport employees are required to wear a uniform. In my little bookstore we are required to wear black on the bottom with black shoes and a khaki brown shirt. But it’s not JUST a khaki brown shirt. It’s a man’s khaki brown shirt. Get my drift? With a pocket. Ugliest uniform in the terminal. It’s embarrassing to look like that. Makes us feel less than invisible. And by the way? We are six employees. Six WOMEN.

As you can see from the stunning photos of me, it doesn’t fit. Not only does it not fit, but it’s hideously unattractive. I look like a prison matron. We are required to wear it tucked in. Not happening. I haven’t worn a shirt tucked in since I was 12, so I’ve been wearing a three-quarter sleeved black cardigan over the potato. The company issues us short sleeved and long sleeved potato shirts. I have to roll up all sets of sleeves or else the shorts sleeves are almost to my wrists and the long sleeves can sweep the floor. The problem will be in a few months when the airport reaches tropical temperatures. Then what??

Women over 40 do not wear their shirts tucked in unless it’s part of a suit or a layered look. Let’s face it…it’s just not a good look. When women get to a certain age we take extra pains to put ourselves together. To look good.  To feel good. We use moisturizer religiously. We don’t leave the house with out makeup.  We color our hair. We wear jewelry. We work hard to look good.

Retail is selling not only the product, but a little of yourself as well. I flirt with my customers. Men and women alike. I want them to know they are buying something that is so wonderful. 40 plus hours a week I put my whole being into selling books. It’s my passion. Sometimes it’s difficult to be so passionate when you look like a baked potato.

We need to look as good as we feel, but we would feel better if we looked good.

Feelin’ so homely

Don’t know what I can do

 Yeah I’m feelin’ so homely

Don’t know what I can do

Need a shirt that will fit

Got the baked potato blues…..

Tales of Terminal A

So as you already know from reading my older posts (and if you haven’t read them, what are you waiting for?) I work in a bookstore at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Logan employs 1000’s of people and even then, it’s small, compared to other international airports in the USA.

People are so intrigued. They want to know what it’s like to work beyond security. 3 most often asked questions:

1)     Do you have to go through the security line every day?

Yes. Sometimes more than once a day.  But as employees we can cut the line. Because if we have to wait behind all the people who don’t have a clue, we will be seriously late for work. And we don’t go thru the body scanner. Just the metal detector.

2)     Do you have to remove your shoes?

No, unless they set off the metal detector. That’s why most of us wear really ugly, but comfortable shoes.

3)     Do you get flight discounts?

          Are you kidding?

The one perk we do get is a really good understanding of how flights work, which day is the best day is to fly and which airlines tend to have LOTS and LOTS of delays.

People also want to know how I GET to the airport. Well, we have an employee garage. Fortunately my company pays my garage fee. Then we take an employee shuttle bus to our terminals. My terminal is A. First stop. I used to work in E. Last stop. Normally the shuttle takes less than 10 minutes. Right now, actually the last  2+ years there has been construction. So now it takes up to a half hour or more. In rush hour, my commute is pretty much an hour door to door. One really great thing about the garage is that when I travel, I can leave my car there. Safe and sound and free of charge.

My bookstore is located post security. It’s a small but very, very complete little shop. Obviously we can’t carry every title ever published, but we generally have what most people are looking for. For the most part, people come in, find what they need, pay and leave. Of course at least 3 to 5 times a day we’ll get the “entitled” customer. Oh, the stories I could tell. These are the first class passengers who truly believe that we are there to serve them. Excuse me. I’m there to sell, not serve. One of my colleagues actually had a customer ask where the “penguin” section was.  A few days ago a customer wanted an “insert” for his book? An INSERT?? You know, something to keep the place in the book. When I told him he could use his receipt or purchase one of our many bookmarks, he said oh, what a disappointment. Then he proceeded to exclaim, “Where is my luggage?” to which I replied, “Sorry, can’t help you with that one.” 

In all American airports passengers are told to stay with their luggage at all times. Several times a day we find a random carry-on sitting in the middle of the store. Most times we just ask, who belongs to this and the customer will retrieve it.  There have been times when we’ve had to call the State Police. Left bags are a big no-no. How people can walk off without their carry-on is beyond me.

Retail is retail. I’ve worked 2 other bookstores NOT in the airport. Basically it’s the same. Customer service. Knowledge of books and inventory. Same old, same old. The major difference in airport retail is that everything depends on the flight schedule. All the stores open at a scheduled time. When we close is another story. We are instructed to close when the last flight boards. That would be approximately 1/2  hour before that flight departs. Of course there are flight delays. Lots of them. So when my friends ask me what time I close the store at night I can only shrug. Last flight was scheduled for 7:30 PM. Now delayed until 9:40. Not going home anytime soon. We study the flight board religiously. At least once an hour. It’s our bible.

I really like working in the airport. Aside from the handful of annoying people, it really is a fun place to be. I love my cute store and the people I work with. We are a little family and we look out for one another.

So next time you’re flying through Logan’s terminal A, do stop by to say hi. Spend some time. Browse. And don’t forget to take your carry-on when you leave! :)

Nanny Nanny Boo Boo

So here I am, back home from Italy. Jet lag is about over. Bags unpacked, dishwasher emptied (how is it that men don’t know how to load or empty a dishwasher? It’s not brain surgery) and back to work.

And Nanny Nanny Boo Boo to the guy who said, “Oh, you’ll gain all the weight back that you lost while you’re in Italy.” Well I DON’T THINK SO. People, not only did I not gain an ounce, I lost 3 more pounds. 27 down. BOO-YA!!!

I have to say I was really good with myself. The only thing that  I really craved…wait for it…was a french fry. Yeah, I know. And pizza is my fav food. Go figure.  I ate a lot of fresh produce. The vegetables in Italy are so wonderful. And prepared beautifully. The fish is great as are the meats and chicken. It was no problem sticking to plan. I really did it. I have witnesses.

I am so grateful to my dear friends in Trieste who WERE and ARE so supportive. Making me special “lean and green” meals while everyone else was having carb overloads. Big shout outs to Maddy, Chiara, Raffa and Krizia, You are the best ever!!

Now that I’m back home I’ve started to do another closet inventory. It’s getting kind of sparse. But that’s ok. I still have clothes that are too small and it will be fun to try them on in another month or so. I’m loving this.

I know I’ll be back in Trieste come October. Or maybe sooner. I won’t be at my goal weight quite yet, but now I know that I can handle any food situation that arises.

I am woman hear me roar!!