5 Dec 2014

BOOTS AND OTHER HOLIDAY TREATS

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‘Tis the season’ for fruit cake, warm hugs, hurry-up-and-get-it-over-with hugs, gifting and re-gifting, making resolutions that won’t last ten minutes past New Years Day, cursing traffic crazies and hanging out with people we don’t usually hang out with. So let’s get real. These holidays can be really stressful. For a lot of people. For a lot of reasons. Can we admit that? Please…

Rehearsing the big show in our Thursday CC Strummers Class.

Well The CC Strummers and I are going to make it all better. Next week at our Ukulele Holiday Show. Sure we sing Jingle Bells and Mele Kalikimaka and I’m Spending Hanukkah in Santa Monica but we also include what I lovingly call “The Dysfunctional Family Corner.” I admit this is my idea because it’s a subject I know well—both personally and professionally.

Come holiday time my emotional radar is exquisitely tuned to “trouble.” For example, when I’m doing a restaurant gig I put my mouth and fingers on automatic and scan the room for toasty pockets of drama. Like the family at Table 5. They are the very picture of “suffering made visible.” Even the best service and tastiest comfort food, like gooey anything, will not elicit a smile. Then there is the house party in the upscale hilly neighborhood. The happy couple are this close to duking it out as the sushi chefs are setting up in the living room, I’m spreading Christmas sing-a-long books on the piano and “Joy to The World” is wafting through the stereo speakers.

And Happy Holidays to you too!

Tom K on U-Bass. He gives our music “a bottom.” We all need a bottom.

So The CC Strummers are taking on relationship angst and revenge with our holiday version of These Boots Were Made For Walkin’. Tom, our new U-bass player, has been woodshedding mightily with his teacher to learn those iconic bass lines. It’s so cool. And SO cathartic! I feel positively purged of yuk by the time we finish the song. Yes Silent Night is gorgeous. Winter Wonderland a joy. Silver Bells, ding-a-ling fun. But we also want to tell world that “you keep lyin’ when you oughta be truthin’…” Okay?

If you live near Culver City, California, please join us for our big family-friendly (believe it or not) Ukulele Holiday Show. It’s free, fun and fabulous. Tuesday, December 9, 1:00 to 2:00 P.M. at the Culver City Senior Center. 4095 Overland Avenue, Culver City, CA 90232. Free parking across the street. Permit parking in the adjoining lot. Come early, grab a seat, some good ukulele vibes and get ready to sing, clap and dance along.

And…

However your holidays unfold, enjoy the ride!

Another time, another place, another “house party.”

 

29 Nov 2014

HERE’S A LITTLE FLUFF

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There’s a lot of nasty stuff happening in the world these days. Or maybe in your neighborhood or with your family or to you.  Each day, a mixed bag — some weighty stuff and some fluff.

Here’s some fluff.

It’s about hair. My hair. Which grows like bamboo and sometimes looks like bamboo. First of all, I have embraced my big hair even when it begins to resemble Medusa’s coiffure as it measures wind speed and direction. I clamp it in curls or hide it under a hat and go blithely on my way.

Which brings me to my destination last Tuesday, just before Thanksgiving. It’s desert hot and dry this afternoon and frankly I have had better hair days. Gravity is pulling the split ends south, albeit not in the way you would see in a Pantene shampoo commercial. It looks more like the sprays of dried chaparral you find at a hobby store. But I think my hair looks swell enough.

I’m setting up for the birthday party at an assisted living facility. Residents are wheeled in by the hard-working staff and “That Guy,” who usually hides in the back of the room, is front row center with his wheelchair parked right next to “That Lady.” I think they are an item as they eat their birthday cake and steal googly-eye glances at each other during the show. Aw how sweet is that?

“Who’s got a birthday this month?” I ask. A couple weary folks raise their hands as we launch into songs by Johnny Mercer and Tina Turner because they were born in November too. I announce that November 3, 1914 is the birthday of the modern bra. That news stirs some moans of excitement so we sing “Ain’t She Sweet.”

But back to my hair…

I finish with a rousing “Happy Birthday” and begin packing up my gear. Folks are swiftly wheeled away except for “That Guy” and “That Lady” in the front row. He leans over to her and speaks:

Guy: “Her hair looks awful today.”
Lady: “Yeah.”
Guy: “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen it.”
Lady: “Yeah.”

Sounds like love to me…

My back is to them but I have really good hearing (or else the acoustics in the room are favoring criticism today). I wonder if they are talking about me. About MY hair. I surreptitiously look around and realize there is no one else in the room but them and me.

Has it been…like…nine months since I’ve seen Maria, my hairdresser? I remember the day I met her. It’s another desperate hair day and I need someone to do something quick. I’m taking my chances at Fantastic Sam’s, sifting through the hair books in the waiting area knowing damned well none of those sleeky looks apply to me. I thank my lucky stars that it is Maria who calls my name that morning and we have forged a trusty relationship ever since. She knows I vanish for months at a time and then suddenly I appear at her door like a fidgety overgrown poodle.

Maria has her own shop now and is busy with pre-Thanksgiving perms and tints, but she squeezes me in probably because I sound that desperate on the phone. I slide onto the chair and watch dry wisps of orange scatter to the floor. She cuts off A LOT. Then she does something I NEVER DO. Maria gives me a blowout. Almost like magic my hair is straight and shiny and probably would look really good with a wind machine. And it will not look like this again until my next haircut.

In my world, this recent incident at the assisted living is not terribly unusual. I hear folks whisper stuff like “her hair is so messy” or “does she ever brush her hair?” Whether it is long, short or in-between. There’s no winning this game. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess.

But I prefer this saying: “If you spot it, you got it.”

Frizzy, curly and a whole lot shorter…
Happy Birthday Tina Turner. Rocking 75. And I LOVE the hair.

 

 

26 Nov 2014

WAIT FOR IT — AND HAPPY “T-DAY” TOO

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Here is my favorite Thanksgiving Day Joke:

How do you tell a male turkey from a female turkey?

Wait for it…
Wait for it…

The male turkey is holding the “remote control.”

Ha! Ha! Ha!

So we have arrived at the official day of “thanksgiving.” I’m so grateful to have opposable thumbs. On BOTH hands. To work the remote control (when I can wrestle it from my husband). To play the ukulele and type these words on the computer. To give someone a hug. I’m so glad you have opposable thumbs too. To do what you do.

All in all, it’s a good day to wake up! Enjoy every precious moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Talk about being w-a-y behind…

I just posted a video of The CC Strummers performing “Simple Gifts” on YouTube. We did this song last year at our Holiday Show, which explains my Santa hat. It was written in 1848 by Elder Joseph Brackett, JUNIOR, for his fellow Shakers to dance and sing along. It remained largely unknown until almost a hundred years later when Aaron Copeland featured the melody in his ballet, Appalachian Spring. Then it morphed into a television theme for the show “The Twentieth Century,” narrated by Walter Cronkite on CBS. That’s where I first heard it. (Remember the Prudential Insurance “Rock of Gibraltar,” kids?). This beautiful piece of music reminds me that gratitude is timeless. Click here to watch the video. And have a lovely Thanksgiving!

 

11 Nov 2014

PALM STRINGS UKULELE FESTIVAL — Come For The Music. Stay For The Weather.

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A road warrior I am not! Once upon a time I had fantasies that I was, or could be, but they are annihilated when I actually do my first road gig. My agent tells the folks at the “XYZ Motel” in Riverside, California, which is about 70 miles east of Los Angeles, that I am a really good piano player and singer and “just perfect for your room.” The truth is I have never met the XYZ people, they’ve never met me and that’s not a good way to start a four-week engagement.

Long story short, I could have been a chimpanzee in a yellow dress playing “You Picked A Fine Time to Leave Me Lucille” at the piano bar and no one would have noticed. Or cared. Nope, this establishment is really about ladies meeting guys.

For a drink and a few laughs. Then they leave together, all smiley and stuff. Later (not much later…) the nice lady returns by herself, makes a new friend and starts over.

I thought I was so worldly at the time. After all I had worked in an emergency room for three years. On the graveyard shift. Where life lessons proliferate with stunning regularity. But I am not prepared for this. Nor are they prepared for me. Miss Goody Two-Shoes. After a couple weeks the manager pulls me aside.

“You’re fired.”

“Wa-Why?” I stutter.

“You don’t fit in.”

I should be relieved, but I’m not. I remember making that lonely trip back to Los Angeles in my red VW Bug, mortified and convinced I will never work again. “Look, I can’t even keep a job in a…well…fancy meeting place…in Riverside,” I mutter to the big gray void.

When I get home that night, I throw my bags on the floor, collapse on the bed and turn on the television for the Eleven O’clock News. They begin with breaking news, of course, about a big prostitution bust in Riverside. Live. OMG!

I watch the police lead a couple ladies (who look oh so familiar) out the front door of the piano bar. They are wearing handcuffs and bustiers. Mercifully the management has removed my name from the marquee, which is featured in the report. It HAD said “Cali Rose – Cheap Rooms.” But tonight it just says Cheap Rooms, which does seem appropriate…

Now you see why I get a little shiver when someone offers me a road gig. But in this grand adventure of life, I still say “yes.”

And a great big YES! to Palm Springs! Friday, February 6 through Sunday, February 8, 2015, when it is warm and beautiful in the California desert, ukuleles are taking over the town at the very first PALM STRINGS UKULELE FESTIVAL. My handsome talented husband, Craig Brandau, is also joining the party. We will teach separate workshops and appear together in the Saturday Night Ukulele All-Stars Concert. For more information, CLICK HERE.

Artists teaching and performing in Palm Springs

All this good ukulele stuff is happening at the splendid and sprawling Hilton Palm Springs, nestled in the heart of downtown, where all the action is. Multiple options are available from full festival passes to Saturday-only passes to Nifty VIP Packages. This is going to sell out. And quickly. Here is the link for group rates at The Hilton. Or find other digs nearby.

Hilton, Palm Springs

The festival “daddy,” Doug Reynolds, is offering newbies the coolest deal in town. It includes a starter ukulele, tuner and a workshop with someone who loves beginners. That would be me!

I’ll teach two more classes: “Let’s Arrange A Song” and “Keys to Happiness, C-D-F-G-A, Marvelous Modulation” (or how to find the right key for you to sing and play a song…) Craig, my chord-melody loving guy, teaches fingerpicking and basic chord melody techniques.

If you have never attended a ukulele festival, it’s inspiring and sometimes a little intense. But you can do as much or as little as you want. A plethora of vendors offer eye-popping assortments of ukes and accessories. Folks gather in circles, spontaneous and otherwise, to make music together. The air is sparkling with good ukulele vibes. You really get a sense of connection, of ohana, because the sweetest people in the world play this wonderful instrument.

And I will leave the piano home…

Hello Riverside!

 

3 Nov 2014

FUNNY THING ABOUT BIRTHDAYS…

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It’s a funny thing about birthdays…

Maybe we toot our horn and tear into a gift or two, as if it’s all about us. But I think it’s my mother who should be celebrating my birthday. After all she’s the one who went into labor and was summarily drugged out of her mind. She’s the one who slept through the whole “birth thing” but did wake up in time to find a newborn lying on her belly looking for food. In those days the baby bottle was the preferred nutritional delivery system, so mom learned how to hold a baby bottle.

Of course I don’t remember a thing about that November morning. It’s all hearsay and I’m taking other people’s word that this stuff actually happened. Funny thing huh? Apparently a new ritual began exactly one year later when the family celebrated my 1st birthday with cake and singing. I don’t remember that either. Which makes me sad because I love cake. And singing.

I visit my ninety-two year old mother this morning after her exciting weekend of falls and a visit from the paramedics. The caregiver can’t lift her off the floor. A phalanx of husky, handsome men in thick uniforms appear at the door. Once they get mom upright, she comes alive and flirts ferociously. This is a woman who loves to be the center of attention, no matter what, and having seven medical men hover, check her vital signs and ask personal questions, aw gee, this has gotta be heaven. Soon we realize she is dazed but unhurt. The paramedics zoom off on another call and mom is tucked back into bed. Within minutes she will forget what happened. Thankfully she’s okay. For now. But as you know, you don’t know. You never know. We ride the rollercoaster and hang on.

My mother does not remember my birthday and I’ve quit reminding her because when I do, she says “oh it’s just another day” and changes the subject. Ouch. Just a wee bit dismissive, don’t you think? Then again, it’s true. This IS just another day.

But…

Of course there is a BUT. I am here. You are here. That is reason enough to celebrate because someday that won’t be the case. But why wait for the one day a year called “birthday” to acknowledge the passage of time? Why wait to say, or think, or write, or text or tweet “thank you?” Thank you for this precious moment.

Mom and I celebrating her 90th Birthday, two years ago

My mother loses a little more of her story every day. The people she once loved or hated with a vengeance that terrified me, they are disappearing—slowly—into a deep gray mist. The television is the centerpiece of her world now. Turner Classic Movies and CNN. She laughs a lot.

So Happy Birthday to all of us. Every single day!

 

12 Oct 2014

OPEN YOUR MOUTH

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Let me tell you about my singing teacher–Laura–my mentor and substitute mama-figure. She was a mélange of contradictions, this fierce Grand Dame. She was brutally honest and honestly kind. Occasionally at the same time. I both adored and feared her, but above all, I listened and watched.

Laura is gone now, but all these years later I still hear her voice and sense her presence no matter what I am doing. The seeds she sowed in the precarious ground of my stubborn self are still here trying, trying to push into the sunlight.

One such proclamation is this: OPEN YOUR MOUTH! At our afternoon lesson she brings in the heavy artillery to demonstrate her point. We huddle together watching Nat King Cole sing a song on the portable T.V. she has rolled close to the piano. “Look at his m-o-u-t-h,” she implores.  It’s not so much that Nat King Cole has a broad beautiful mouth… She wants me to see, really see, that he opens it. So wide that when the camera pans in close I swear I’m taking a Disney ride down his throat. In the world of dentistry this man must have been a dream patient.

There is a point to this discussion. A singer’s instrument is the body. From the feet that press into the ground and the legs, gut and chest, to the top of the head. Sound resonates in the bones and spaces in our face. Let those tones free! OPEN YOUR MOUTH.

When Nat King Cole sings I understand every syllable of every word. His voice rolls over me like sweet molasses. Laura and I practice opening our mouths in front of a mirror. She teaches me how to do “goldfish lips” so I learn to control my “embouchure.” It’s French, okay, so look it up. Or ask your favorite trumpet player.

You may have noticed that I have a lot of “lip” to work with so when I actually do it. That embouchure thing. Well it does look goldfishy… When my husband Craig snapped this picture at our recent show—The CC Strummers “Uke Things Up” at Fiesta La Ballona—I was singularly delighted. And doubly tickled because there’s Marilyn, our percussionist/uke player extraordinaire, doing the same thing with her lips. Marilyn is a fabulous singer and made a living as a vocalist performing with the Young Americans and touring with Johnny Mathis. So there.

The CC Strummers really nail “Folsom Prison Blues” at our show. Tom K, who has been playing the U-Bass only two months, makes his big debut. And joy of joy, a sound man turns up the volume on my ukulele FOR ME when I do my solo. That’s why I’m making google eyes at him. No I’m not flirting. It’s just plain gratitude. CLICK HERE to watch the video!

Laura reminded me that I can practice my singing technique every time I talk. And since I do a whole lot more talking than singing, why not relax those jaw muscles and open my mouth while I’m on the phone with AT&T sorting out last month’s bill.

PROGRAM NOTE FOR MY SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA FRIENDS:

My OnGoing Ukulele Workshop for Beginners continues at Boulevard Music. A new session begins Saturday, October 18, 2014. Four consecutive Saturdays from 11:00 A.M. to 12:00 noon. $60. We learn new chords and strums, basic fingerpicking, fun embellishments and fine-tune our technique. If you can already play a little this class will be very helpful.  (See the flyer below)

My Ukulele For Beginners Workshop arrives early next year, also at Boulevard Music. This five-week workshop is for folks who have never played the uke (or any instrument) before or have limited experience. We start at the beginning and learn to make music in a warm and supportive atmosphere.  Saturday dates to come…

12 Sep 2014

WHERE EVERYBODY KNOWS YOUR NAME

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Maybe the television show “Cheers” was so popular, for so long, because folks like you and me just feel better, happier, safe…even, when there is a place to go where someone actually knows who you are. And seems to care a little bit.  And you care about them.

Where someone remembers how you take your coffee in the morning. What’s happening with your kid. Your new job. What the doctor said? That you like chicken soup with rice.  Hold the noodles.

The connections may not run deep. They are ensconced within “this place.” But once in a blue moon, these connections run long. Very long. We are living out that “Cheers” story right now in Culver City. And the last show is this Sunday at 4:00 P.M. The Roll ‘n Rye Delicatessen has been a bagel-lovers fixture on Jefferson Boulevard for what feels like a slice of forever. The businesses around it have come and gone, but this stalwart haven hung in and hung on. It was easy to think it would never end.

But everything ends.

The owner grew up in the deli world and has worked tirelessly her whole life to run a successful business that also morphed into a social hub for the community. In this land of corporate mergers and chain restaurants that all look and feel and smell alike, what a rare gem to find a place like this. A place where three generations of families have woven Roll ‘n Rye stories into their lives.

I remember the golden days of this deli.  We’d have to wait an hour in the crowded holding area to be seated, staring down the deli case.  Not a vegetarian’s delight, shall we say. The lucky ones got to wait on the long bench under the iconic black and white picture of the old-timey MGM stars.  From my perch I’d watch the cooks move like dancers in a he-man ballet, gliding from the hot grill to the meat slicer. The waitresses were a blur of movement and intention.

My husband, mother and I went to the Roll ‘n Rye the day after my father passed away. Of course they knew my daddy at this place and Rita, the owner, gave me a big hug. Over the years, she’s watched the same scenario unfold over and over again–these passages, big and small, that we experience in our lives. She helped create a space where we could bring them into the light of day. And be comforted by a community of people who know this feeling too.

But our eating habits have changed. The recession didn’t help either. There are fewer and fewer delicatessens left in Los Angeles. After 51 years, it was time for Rita, the owner, to retire. The Roll ‘n Rye will be replaced by one of those cookie-cutter chain restaurants that thrive on getting customers in and out quickly. Building a sense of community, of connection, is not on their menu.

But what about us? We are a Diaspora now, scattering here and there. Looking for a new place to lay down roots. What we had at the Roll ‘n Rye will never happen again. It’s impossible. Just as this moment will never happen again. But anyone who has had a place to go that feels like home, even for a little while, is very lucky indeed. Perhaps we can take that feeling with us and go build something new.

PROGRAM NOTE FOR MY SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA FRIENDS:

Craig and I are leading a fun-filled and music-full ukulele jam session Friday, September 19 at Dave’s Island Instruments in Lakewood, from 6:30 to 8:00 P.M. We’ll be strumming and finger-picking a whole array of songs that beginner and intermediate players will love. All this joy for only $5. Please join us, players, singers and music lovers. No reservations are necessary. Just show up. (Chicken soup is optional…)

Dave’s Island Instruments
4115 Los Coyotes Diagonal, Lakewood, CA 90713
562-706-1719

 

12 Aug 2014

SHARK WEEK

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It’s Shark Week on the Discovery Channel, but these days it feels like every week is a sort of “shark week” somewhere, somehow.

Usually this stuff goes through one ear and out the other in our house. Usually.  But last month my husband Craig and I actually did “swim with sharks” and not exactly on purpose.

Window Gazing

Here we are in beautiful Hanalei on the north shore of Kaua’i enjoying a real tropical vacation. I don’t realize how exhausted I am until we settle into our little studio bungalow a few steps from one of the most beautiful beaches in the world: Hanalei Bay. For the first couple of days all I can bring myself to do is eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, look out the window and go back to sleep.

But soon enough I return to life and it’s time to take a dip in the beautiful turquoise bay. First we baste each other with industrial-strength sun block, fortified with zinc AND titanium. I’m looking like a greased albino mammal trundling down Pilokoa Street, leaving little doubt that this specimen is “a tourist.”

Hanalei Bay–the “long” view

Craig and I lay our towels on the sand and head to the water. This time of year the bay looks like a great big blue bathtub with waves that are rubber ducky size. The water is on the cool side, well cool for me, and being a temperature-wimp, it will take ten minutes or so to completely submerge myself in the water. One body part, one joint at a time. On the other hand, Craig dives right in and swims “that-a-way” just as the salty stuff is lapping at my calves. You get the picture.

Except…

Just as we are dipping our toes into the ocean a man yells “SHARK!.” He’s standing close enough for me to guess his age… Fear smears across my husband’s face. Craig is channeling the movie “Jaws.” I just know it. As he makes a pitch-perfect U-Turn back to the sand.

I, on the other hand, just stand there, in mainlander shock. Or idiocy. (Craig reminds me that when we have an earthquake in Los Angeles, I run to the window “to watch” instead of ducking under a table.) Instinctively I turn to the lifeguard station, which is well within eyeshot, and there is Mr. Tan & Gorgeous, lounging nonchalantly on the ledge of his tower. Mmmmm.

Baby Hammerhead Shark

By now the “Shark Town Crier” is pointing at shadows moving underwater about a foot from my foot. I count them. Three. Three little sharks. Maybe eighteen inches long and one of them gets so close to the sand that it grounds itself, flipping and flopping as curious tourists gather around and gasp. Until the next wave takes him back to his watery home.

The man announces to the small phalanx of folks “they are Hammerheads. Just babies. It’s okay. They won’t hurt you.”

“Re-e-e-e-ally?” I say, not entirely believing him as I glance back at the lifeguard who is now chatting with some girls. But there is no panic in the air. Or water. Retiree types, little kids, young couples, midlings, are bobbing up and down in the gentle waves. So what the hell? I begin my ritual of dipping ever so slowly into the wet. Craig finally relents and dives in. When he comes up for air I notice he’s casually looking over his right shoulder and then his left and then his right…

Row, row, row your boat…

Long story short, we swim with sharks. Sort of. But I still have questions so I corral the lifeguard whose world-weary demeanor makes me think he gets “shark” questions all the time.

“They are juveniles. They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them.” At this point I’m wondering what that would look like–bothering a shark? And why would anyone want to BOTHER a shark.

“But you know,” I continue, “I’m thinking that maybe since these are, like, shark children, maybe MOM and DAD are somewhere close by, like, hovering…you know…”

“Probably not,” he tells me matter-of-factly. Once sharks are born (or hatched or whatever), they are on their own, he reports. Mom and dad’s job is done. This news is shocking to me considering it takes, what, thirty, forty years to raise an adult human. So the baby sharks have to figure things out for themselves, just like that. (This brings up all kinds of abandonment issues for me…but never mind.)

Don’t sharks have a “reputation” for being predators and biters and mean fish? Mean mean fish? I’m sure that’s not the whole story, but nevertheless, popping into the world just as mom and dad are swimming away would not put me in a good mood.

I’m just saying…

 

 

5 Jul 2014

FLASH MOB? DOES THAT MEAN WE HAVE TO “FLASH”?

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The idea to do a CC Strummers “Flash Mob” has been percolating for a long time here in the neighborhood. One of our ukulele scouts talks with folks at the local mall and reports back with their curt reply. “If we let you play, we’ll have to let anyone play.”

The Culver Hotel

Undeterred and fortified with ukulele gusto, we locate a parcel of public land in the heart of downtown Culver City. It is a triangular shape of concrete with potted plants and a fountain at the pointy end that beckons young and old to get up close and personally wet. To one side of the plaza is the historical Culver Hotel. During the halcyon days of MGM Studios, which was located smack dab in the middle of Culver City, this hotel was the happening place to put up the stars. Or put up with the stars… 75 years ago in our quaint land, they filmed The Wizard of Oz and here come the Munchkins. They are booked three to a room.

Three to a room. Please take as long as you need to think this one through…

Considering the gravitas of time and place, I decide we will do a couple songs from the movie. For starters. As I’m building a setlist and getting the song arrangements together it occurs to me that perhaps I should, like, call city hall, like, and tell them this is happening so, like, no one gets arrested…

And lucky I do. Listen folks, I’m a musician. My job is to “make happy” and ignore bureaucracy for as long as humanly possible. But three pages of rules and regulations land in my email in-box. So I start making phone calls. The folks at City Hall are delightful as I explain what we are doing. They say “okay” and promise to notify the Fire Department too. (Um really?…We’re pretty good, but I don’t think we set the world on fire…yet). The sergeant in charge of movie shoots and crowd control at The Culver City Police Department gives me, my toaster-oven-size-battery-powered speaker and The CC Strummers a “thumbs-up.” Our mother ship, The Culver City Senior Center, is vigilant and appreciative at the same time.

Maria, our wild Latin Goddess, actually thinks a Flash Mob means we are going to flash. Like a body part or something. She envisions her costume, sharing the details one morning in class after we do our hand exercises. It’s a kind of flesh colored cat suit, with, was it plastic flowers or something, strategically placed. Think Gypsy Rose Lee… Oh yes, and a trench coat that she will rip open at just the right moment. “And when will that moment be?” I ask. “After the Rainbow song.” She laughs. Her dress rehearsal, which happens in the privacy of her house, does not go well, apparently, and her stripper garb is scrapped. I am only a little relieved…

Finally the big day arrives. In true Flash Mob tradition we gather in the plaza and try to look inconspicuous. With our ukuleles and music stands, inconspicuous. By the time I hit the downbeat of our first song—the signal for all to gather around—The CC Strummers are already gathered around and waiting for me.  Marilyn and her percussion section are at the starting gate and away we go.

Our favorite song in the Flash Mob set is the big hit “Happy.” We have worked on this song for weeks and weeks, learning the language of syncopation. Rhythm and Blues. Hip Hop. What can I say? We are a whole lot hipper now than we were at Easter. My husband videotapes the whole happy thing and we have posted it on YouTube for you to watch. Click here for some “feel good.”

I have learned over the years that even though I make plans and I arrive prepared, something unexpected happens anyway. I used to freak out about this, but not so much these days because…what the hell. Life is short. Stuff happens and sometimes it turns into a splendid surprise.

Well I didn’t plan an encore because this is a Flash Mob, after all. We flash in, we flash out. Done. Goodbye. Except the unexpected happens. After our last song, which is a reprise of The CC Strummers Theme Song, the audience is clapping and calling out “more.” Over and over.

“More? I am thinking to myself. “You have got to be kidding. We don’t have more. What to do? What to do?” Well I confess to everyone within earshot that we don’t have more, but we’ll play another song anyway. You see I encourage The CC Strummers to play by ear. Too. We play a song by ear every class so we have a few in the bag and we pulled out Elvis, just like that. I was so proud of them. They responded like pros and we nailed it. Watch what happens! Click here.

Finally, a toast to all those Munchkins and the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Click here to watch the video. Maria doesn’t flash, but we have to deal with a sudden flash of wind and it’s right there, you see how kind and supportive ukulele people are. Anyone who has the good fortune to be in a ukulele group knows how quickly it turns into family, ohana. How quickly it becomes more than making music. It turns into an oasis, a safe harbor where we experience the best in ourselves. And others.

8 Jun 2014

THE BIG MIDDLE–UKULELE TOUR IN CALIFORNIA

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My adopted home state is tall and, well, stately. There is the top–where I went to college near the redwood trees of Humboldt County. There is the bottom–where my parents and I landed so many years ago, brand new immigrants from Washington D.C. And there is the middle–where I did a week-long silent meditation retreat in the Santa Cruz Mountains…and lived to tell about it.

Hubby and I are going “all-middle” at the end of June for a whirlwind ukulele tour to Modesto, Sacramento and San Jose. Because of our schedules–Craig teaches high school and I do shows and teach and write Monday through Monday–well we don’t get out of Los Angeles very much. But when we do, I’m like a wide-eyed kid on her first trip to Disneyland.

This mini-tour “fell together” because people in the ukulele community are really kind. And supportive.

For example, we met Stu Herreid at the Reno Ukulele Festival. Stu owns The Strum Shop which is a popular music store/performing venue near Sacramento. I have attended his festival workshops and marvel at his teaching methods. He is the “strum master” and above all, Stu’s honest. About the “P” word.

PACTICE…

There he is, alone on stage, perched comfortably in a chair and demonstrating some cool strum. Stu is telling everyone in the room that you can get this strum. Yes you can. Si Se Puede! IF you do it over and over and over and over. For…say…45 minutes…straight.

I am laughing so hard (well on the inside) that I almost spit up my Ricola because I know I can barely do anything for 45 minutes without running to the fridge or the computer or going off to fantasyland. If you get my drift…

Nevertheless, I completely agree with Mr. Herreird. Practice, hard-core repetition, is key to learning to play this or any instrument. And truth be told, I’ve done countless “practice marathons” in my life and…I’m tired.

When we email him about our plans for a mini-tour, Stu books us for a workshop and concert at the Strum Shop Friday night, June 27th. Just like that. Whoo Hoo!

Then I remember that my friend and former Skype student, Portor, lives in San Jose and I grab a map of California. “Oh San Jose is only “two inches” from Sacramento,” I exclaim to no one else in the room. Well, Porter gets to work and works miracles. He arranges a workshop and concert for us at Atria Willow Glen and goes above and beyond the call of duty, inviting several local ukulele groups from Silicon Valley to Monterey “to party” with us in San Jose.

Suddenly, out of the blue…of my computer screen…I get an email from Lorrie who helms the Funstrummers, based in Modesto. She sees we are performing at The Strum Shop and invites us to do a workshop for her group that same morning. Back to the map I go… “Ah, Modesto is a “little over an inch” from Sacramento. We can do that!

And now you see how we put a tour together. One inch at a time and with A LOT of help from our friends. Here’s the schedule.

Friday, June 27 in Modesto with The Funstrummers. 
Workshop at 9:30 AM. $20.
209-505-3216 for information
Email: FunstrummersUke@aol.com

Friday, June 27 at The Strum Shop in Roseville. 7:00 $20

Saturday, June 28 at Atria Willow Glen in 
San Jose at 2:00 P.M.
Workshop & Concert $20
Atria Willow Glen
1660 Gaton Dr
San Jose,, CA 95125
Contact info, pgoltz@me.com.

If you live in them there lands of middle California, please join us for some ukulele education AND fun. Craig, my chord-melody man, will do his thing. I’ll do mine, which means hot ukulele rhythms and singing and comedy from my Dr. Demento days. And we’ll do our husband-wife “let’s-play-together” thing too.

It’s almost summer, the earth is still spinning, so let’s make music!
And a big “thank you’ to Stu, Portor and Lorrie for making this possible!

 

18 May 2014

“AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU” & YOU & YOU

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I have added another song to the pantheon of birthday ditties. As if there aren’t enough, huh. But my song has a couple twists.  Astronomy and fire.

Astronomy:

The lyric of my song includes this line: “So your birthday has come. Another spin around the sun.” When my November birthday rolls by I remind myself that the Earth was at this same location on her 365 day orbit around the Sun as last year and the year before that. Give or take. Birthdays are locked into time and space and gravity. And Happy Birthday to Albert Einstein too!

The “Fire” Thing:

I remember hearing, or reading, or dreaming a phrase that went like this: “The more candles on your cake, the brighter your light shines.” Well that is sweet, isn’t it? And hopeful. And probably not true. Except for a precious few who light up a room without candles. But maybe there is some deeper mystery at work here. Something timeless. About us. It is quiet, yet bright as the sun, and has nothing to do with the birthday date stamped on our driver’s license. Please don’t roll your eyes. I’m only a little cuckoo.

Some of our happy CC Strummers smiling for the camera!

Well however one views the ineffable currents that move our lives, singing is fun and so is playing the ukulele and celebrating birthdays. Since we are all hanging out in the same earth orbit, I figure a birthday Shout Out to one is a birthday Shout Out for all. So, Whoo-Hoo!

Here’s……Michael

The CC Strummers and I have been practicing our birthday song for weeks and finally the big VIDEO day arrives. We wear birthday hats and crowns. There are balloons and a Happy Birthday sign I hang on the back wall. Michael, our video & techie dude has set up his wide-angle, high definition camera. There are more CC Strummers these days and we need a bigger camera!

As I am editing the video on my computer, a little thought bubble bursts over my head: Why not wish folks happy birthday in THEIR language too? Using titles and fancy fonts. So I Google “how do you say happy birthday in different languages?” Suddenly I am face to face with a roster of languages that scrolls from north to south. Many are written in alphabets that would make calligraphers swoon. So I copy and paste, copy and paste and voila (French!), my song “And Happy Birthday To You” has taken on an international flair.

Clowning around before we video our birthday song.

Of course I am making a bold assumption—that everything on the internet is absolutely correct. Are you laughing? Thai, Indonesian, Korean…they all look Greek to me and I can’t make out the Greek either. So I’m taking a leap of faith here that these phrases really mean “Happy Birthday” and not something like “You can take your birthday and shove it where the sun don’t shine.” Well, that IS kind of astronomical…

You gotta watch the video! CLICK HERE. It’s short, so sweet, “educational” and share-worthy. What would Einstein say? Maybe… “And Happy Birthday To You.”

Here are The CC Strummers in the recording studio where they play and sing on two songs from this CD.

This song is on my newest CD “Smile, Smile, Smile.” Please give the studio version a listen at iTunes, Amazon & CD Baby where all my CD’s and individual songs are available to download & purchase.

Thanks a million everybody!

 

 

1 May 2014

PASS IT ON

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Lucky me. I get to run in a lot of different circles. The desk calendar that hangs behind my computer is a patchwork of colors and circles and arrows and Post-Its. In three different sizes. Gasp…

One recent Tuesday I aim my car south because my calendar says “Scholarship Reception.” This is one “circle” that is brand new for me. I land at The Japanese Garden on the campus of California State University, Long Beach. For years my father-in-law Jack was a vice-president there and my mother-in-law Connie immersed herself in everything CSULB. She attended the basketball games, theater productions and helped co-found “Women in Philanthropy” which offers scholarships to deserving students. The staff, the students, the community of people who work together to make Cal State Long Beach such a warm and collaborative institution, all of this was the centerpiece of their lives. Connie passed away a few years ago and we lost Jack last winter.

So this year their long-time presence and contributions are being honored with a special scholarship in Connie’s name.  I am here to represent the family. The family I married into. Connie was the “good mother” to me, but I didn’t realize it, like in my belly, until she was gone. Why does that happen? That so much of our real connection with each other is obscured in the petty details of the moment that it seems we can only grasp the truth in retrospect? What a great big bummer that is…

From left to right: Susan (Connie’s dear friend), Jeanette and “Shorty” (me).

 

 

Folks gather under the tent, perch at the round tables where I meet some of Connie’s friends and Jack’s colleagues. I munch on the spring rolls and marvel at the whole gestalt of it all. A very lovely woman, Jeanette, who will earn her degree in Management Information Systems this year, is Connie’s Memorial Scholarship winner. She works in the “real world” while attending college and values the education she is receiving because nothing has come easy for her. I get to witness the power of “legacy” before my very eyes. If Connie was here, she’d be all aglow.

It’s interesting, the way we talk about “gifts.” As if a gift is a thing. A commodity. Like someone has a “gift” to write a poem or a song or paint a picture that makes you feel something. To grow a garden or a good kid or a new business. To bring out the best in others or to cook a perfect soufflé, to discover a new planet or medicine that cures the awful disease.

Of course what “we do” is important, but “what we are” is the true gift. I keep these wise words of author Natalie Goldberg at the ready, not far from my crazy calendar:

“Whether we know it or not, we transmit the presence of everyone we have ever known, as though by being in each other’s presence we exchange our cells, pass on some of our life force, and then we go on carrying that other person in our body, not unlike springtime when certain plants in fields we walk through attach their seeds in the form of small burrs to our socks, our pants, our caps, as if to say, “Go on, take us with you, carry us to root in another place.” This is how we survive long after we are dead. This is why it is important who we become, because we pass it on.”

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