yours, tiramisu

wild old dogs

Today I woke up early for what was my first installment of a recurring dogwalking gig to last two weeks. I take this big Bernedoodle out twice a day for half an hour each, once at 7 in the morning and again at 4 in the afternoon. From what I can tell, the owner is actually home when I walk his dog, but because his wife is in India this week and the next he's too busy with meetings and kids to tend to the dog. Fair enough, I guess.

Where I am the moon still hangs high in the sky at six in the morning, but the stars have gone into hiding. The air is frigid and I see few things on my commute other than school buses and the elementary schoolers waiting for them on the sidewalk. The quiet half-hour drive does make for good thinking time, though when I factor it in to my hourly rate, I make less than I did working retail back in high school. I find it hard to say which gig I prefer. It's true that I didn't have to brave the cold, pick up poo, or get dragged around while folding clothes (at least physically), but slaving away under flourescent lights for hours on end hurt my soul. At least with the dog I get exercise and some fresh air, so I won't complain too much for now.

Back home I'm also watching over a family friend's dog this week, another large Goldendoodle. (What is up with middle class families and Goldendoodles?) I get along fine with him for the most part, but he turns into a vicious bully around other dogs like the sweet border collie I had over yesterday. He's also overdue for a trim, which is a problem because he stinks to high heaven. I don't mean wet dog smell — his fur reeks of fermented filth, and all of us are giving him a wide berth because of it.

This morning I was thinking about this Bob Dylan interview where he talks about how he can't write songs like he used to anymore.

In a 2004 interview with 60 minutes, Bob Dylan remarked on his early work, saying, "I don’t know how I got to write those songs... Those early songs were almost like magically written — darkness at the break of noon, shadows even the silver spoon, the hand-made blade, a child’s balloon. Well, try to sit down and write something like that. There’s a magic to that and it’s not Siegfried and Roy kind of magic, you know, it’s a different kind of penetrating magic, and I did it at one time."

When interviewer Ed Bradley responds, "And you don’t think you can do it today?" Dylan bows his head a little and says "no".

"Does that disappoint you?" says Bradley.

Dylan looks as though he wants to say yes for a moment before answering, "Well you can’t do something forever and I did it once. I can do other things now, but I can’t do that."

The exchange reminded me how much of it a gift it is to be able to create anything, even if we're not masters like Dylan or Hemingway or Degas. We should write, sing, and draw while we still can, because one day we won't be able to anymore, and that day might come sooner than we think. What a shame it would be to look back and regret not doing more.

#creativity #english #life #wordvomit