The Music Never Stopped

Click here for some appropriate background music.

Dead Freaks Unite... remember that?

When I first started my job, I was introduced to the people in my new office, and I remember going into Arthur's office at the end of the hall.  Arthur has two computers, one for his work and one for his music.  As I was brought in I heard Sugaree loud and clear from computer number two.  He didn't bother to turn it down, and we could barely hear each other.  And as I stood there, I spaced out for a second on our conversation as I wondered, "Jerry Garcia band, or Grateful Dead? No, must be the Dead, because that's defnitely Phil, not John Kahn.  That must be early 80's judging by the keyboards, gotta be Brent... I wonder if that's the Lewiston show..."  When I realized that it was my turn to say something, I said the only thing I could..."Nice to meet you Arthur!"


Our boss, who was introducing us did not seem to notice the secret handshake, or the quick acknowledgement of shared shows.  Well, that's because we Deadheads don't have a secret handshake (though some of us are huggers) and Arthur and I have not had the "favorite show" conversation yet.  


There's a T-shirt I've seen at shows that says "We are everywhere."  And I love how that's still true.

Yesterday, the Spring Tour was announced!


Yes, Furthur Fans, Deadheads, and Fellow Freaks on the East Coast spent yesterday calling, emailing, tweeting and texting each other to spread the news.  Boston, Connecticut, and, can you believe it?  The Beacon Theater in New York City.


So, while the rest of the world is up and at 'em, doing things like Christmas and Hanukkah shopping, driving their kids to sports, going to synagogue, and of course, sleeping, a tiny percent of us were decorating envelopes and taking out huge amounts of cash to be turned into postal money orders.  What am I talking about?  Read on.


The Grateful Dead has always been deadicated to their fans, in a way that has paid off for them with not only financial success but a fan loyalty that has spawned its own culture.  It's lasted since the early sixties and survived the decades of change, including the early and tragic death of beloved band leader (and now ghostly tie designer) Jerry Garcia.  One way in which the Dead shows their love is the fact that they allow people to tape their shows, despite the fact that you can buy the show from the website. 

He just keeps making them, and you guys keep buying them.  

Another way they have shown their love for us is by reserving blocks of tickets for all their shows for the fans to recieve via mail order.  It used to work by calling in to a certain phone number an writing down the info, now it appears online  at the Furthur website.  One of the sadder days in my life was receiving my tickets for the show right after Jerry died in 1995.  I still have those unused tickets.  That was the last time I did the mail order.    

My unused tickets.  Of course, they were horrible seats, but, oh how I wish we could have seen that show.

Until today.


After the news went viral yesterday that tickets were going on sale, I was pumped. I knew I could not be by my computer on Monday morning to try order online for the the eight night stand at the Beacon.  (I do actually have to work.)  Because they are playing in April during Passover, I have the whole week off, so it means I can go out late, sleep late, and just not eat or drink anything!  (Unless the Beacon has Kosher for Passover vodka, and this being New York City, that could be!)  So I got my mail order together, modestly decorated my envelope, and went to the post office with a huge wad of cash.

Waiting in line with everyone with their stacks of Christmas cards, and bags of gifts to be mailed, I smiled.  I hadn't done this in a while.  The geniuses at the post office, not thinking that today would be busy day, had two people working, so the line was out the door.  


As I waiting, I scrolled through the tweets on my phone.  Hot Tuna played last night at the Beacon.  I am going tonight, so I searched for the set list.  I texted a friend who went last night and asked for a run down of the show.  


After trying to ignore two very whiny children, a woman having a loud conversation on her cell that none of us wanted to hear, and three extremely inappropriately dressed people among a line of about 30 of us, it was my turn.  I asked for my postal money order for the exact amount for my four tickets.  $298.  I'm grinning ear to ear.  I take it to the filthy little work table where someone is addressing a pile of 110 Christmas cards.  (I know this because I heard him ask for 110 Christmas stamps 20 minutes ago.  He's nowhere near the end of his pile.) As I take my groovy envelope and put it into the mail slot, I hear the scruffy guy at the counter request a postal money order for $298 along with a stamped number ten envelope.   He and I did not do the secret Deadhead handshake... but I couldn't help but think...
"We are everywhere!"

P.S.  This was the first time I got my money order back.  I had to buy my tickets online with the rest of the world.

Juliet Comes Alive

I got about 4 inches cut off my hair yesterday.  Nobody noticed.  That's not to say no one saw my hair.  It's a curly mop of mostly brown and some leftover gold from the summer mixed with what my long-time hair-dresser* says is much too much gray.  (She wants me to color my hair.  I'm fine with the gray, but she had a compelling argument... "Everyone else is doing it." ... Where are we?  In middle school?)  I digress.  


I saw several people I knew today when I ventured in to my my town's delightful farmers' market.  Every Sunday from May through October we host this...and today was a glorious day.  Vendors were out in full force, the sun was shining, leaves just starting to change and the weather was perfect, high 60's.  There was a guitar player singing Dylan, Jorma, and CSNY.  When he finished, a jazz quartet set up under a tent.  Everywhere I went, from the soap maker to the pickle guy, I ran into friends, acquaintances,Temple members, and, to my delight, even my Rabbi!  I struck up conversations with strangers, as people are prone to do on days like this.


As I say, no one noticed that my hair was shorter, but everyone has noticed that I seem very happy.  For one thing, it's Sunday and I am out and enjoying a fall day.  This is something that I have not had the luxury of doing in, well, about 30 years.  As a religious school teacher and then long-time Hebrew school director, Sundays have always been my big work day.  I have not had a school-year Sunday off in years, or if I have, then it's because I have something else to do, or I am sick in bed.  So to be enjoying a fall day and buying artisanal breads while listening to Gershwin is just a joy.


Halfway through my life I changed jobs.  


I like change.  I like to try new things.  Just this year I have tried Thai and Indian food.  This very day I baked an apple crisp for the first time.  (None of these were great, but I did try them all!) I now no longer sit at the helm of one synagogue's school, but find myself in a new role, as a consultant and regional educator to many synagogues. I am also teaching more this year.  I love the field of Jewish Education.  You might say I found my calling at a very young age (20) when I started my first job as a Sunday School teacher during my senior year of college.  I adored it, I didn't mind waking up early on Sundays, and I was a natural. Now, 32 years later,  I haven't left this cherished world of Jewish ed, but I do have my Sundays back. 


I am really enjoying the new challenges of these new jobs and the welcome surprises that the change of the schedule has brought me.  I have found some focus and renewed energy on work, family and fun. 


Why did I make this change now?   I had to.  It was time. Maybe that's fuel for another blog entry.  


For now I will enjoy my time and ponder the bigger questions.  How can I use my experiences to help others?  How can I continue to make the ancient Jewish texts relevant to the students who are even more over-programmed than ever?   Is the smoked mozzarella at the farmers market really smoked, or do they use chemicals to give it that flavor?  Should I consider moving away from the 1978 Frampton Comes Alive style haircut? 

Classic Rock

SEPARATED AT BIRTH?

* Sorry about the word hairdresser.  It's the woman who cuts my hair.  It's a dorky word now that I'm typing it, but what else should I call her?  What would she call herself?  Probably a stylist.  I can't even believe the whole first paragraph is dedicated to my hair, though I was sitting at the beauty parlor (there I go again... salon) yesterday musing to myself how much time and how many dollars people, mostly women are spending on their hair.  So I guess one paragraph (well, now two) is okay.  


And an apology here... I just realized after I published this that clicking on the links to hear the music takes you away from the blog, rather than opening up a new window to hear the music simultaneously.   Sorry about that.  I'll work on that.  I do recommend checking out the music, of course.  Just don't ADD yourself right off this page into a YouTube frenzy of classic rock clips and forget to finish reading.