Early morning walks have been my exercise of choice for many years. Often up and out before the crows, there has been a deep-down pleasure in the stretching of the miles and the stretching of the steps – thousands of the former, millions of the latter! Several generations of sneakers and hiking boots have carried the load in urban and sylvan settings, hills and flatlands, trails and park paths.
There have been fellow travelers, like my friend Steve whose company and conversation I have long cherished; but there have been just as many mornings of soloing, when the quiet clearing of the cobwebs and the stretching of the mind have accompanied the stretching of the legs. Some of my best thinking takes place on the hoof, when my reveries take place before the sun beats me home. Those days that have not begun with an amble or a stroll or a power walk just do not seem as positive or as productive.
That was especially true when faced with the deadlines and stresses of a career; but in retirement, and now even more in the time Covid, I have sought the company of music. A gift of an iPad mini was delightful and very hip, but the little buds hurt my ears.
My daughter to the rescue. She ordered a fine pair of headphones, linked them wirelessly to my iPhone, and installed the Spotify app. It seemed rather dorky to wear this huge thing across my dome with padded covers for the ears; but she placed it on my head and punched up Yo Yo Ma playing “Gabriel’s Oboe” from Ennio Morricone’s breathtaking soundtrack of “The Mission.”
I got over dorky immediately. The cello was being played rapturously in the middle of my head. It was magic. This daughter organized an all-time playlist, which includes artists I never would have considered. She dragged me back to the future with gorgeous technology and used it in a subversive manner to expand my musical tastes. The morning walks were revitalized, and I was inspired to poetry:
Those plastic buds they hurt my ears; my daughter had a perfect fix.
She amazoned some headphones and I got some brand-new kicks.
She knows I like all kinds of music, so she made a Poppa mix
of Elton John and YoYo Ma, the Beatles and the Dixie Chicks,
of Hammerstein and Richard Rodgers, Oklahoma, music flicks.
Of Evan Hanson, Hamilton, Les Miz and operatic hits,
Puccini, Verdi, Saint-Saens, I was all set to hit the bricks
with many of my favorite tunes, and lo, a few surprising picks.
Of new performers, diff’rent styles, my daughter found some mavericks
who did delight and satisfy with OMG’s and fantastics,
like Sara B and Taylor Swift. Who says an old dog hates new tricks?
I do love Waitress and The Man; and my cake full of candlesticks!
I log the miles and hear new roads, and now my daughter she predicts
that I will never say deep six, that I will never say nix nix,
to new and unfamiliar cliques, that I in time will be a Swifty
and will be forever quick
to keep the beat and walk in time
to Clean and Starlight and Dear John
to Breathe and Fearless and Bad Blood
and Innocent, I Want You Back
to Daylight and Umbrella and
Cornelia, I Did Something Bad
and Tears on My Guitar and We
Are Never Ever Getting Back
Together
Tidings from Tim 