You Think I’m Over the Hill

Today is one of the high holy days of my personal religion. Today is Bob Dylan’s natal anniversary…birthday for those of you too illiterate to figure out the first phrase. Yep, the Bob is 67 years old today. I’m celebrating in my own way, going out yarn shopping with Star and then dropping in for dim sum in Miami’s finest dim sum joint. And then, for desert, more yarn shopping. All the while playing the Bob on my car cd player.

You celebrate in your own fashion, OK? I have, as I do every year, made plans for a fabulous home-cooked meal, in case he’s in the neighborhood and wants a little nosh. One year he was down in Miami on tour, and I even sent a formal invitation to his label. I don’t think they passed it on, because he never showed up and I had left over brisket for days. This year I’m going to make potato pierogis. In other years I’ve made kugel. Maybe it’s the chopped liver that he wants?

I mean, I figure, how often does the man get a nice, home-cooked Jewish meal? His mom’s still with us, or she was when he won the Kennedy Center honors, because she was his date, but who knows if she’s still cooking for him. And who knows if Mrs. Zimmerman was much of a cook to begin with? Still, the Bob sings about kitchens and food a lot, so I’m counting on sooner or later, hitting on the menu that will bring him to my door.