I don’t usually listen to rock. In fact, I love silence, but you never know when lightning will strike. It struck me last night lying on my couch. So I put the headphones in, far in, and went down a hard rocker’s road. It wasn’t hard at all. It was like I always knew this voice, this guy from Boston, my alma mater, my alma, this unbedded fellow beast, this soul mate of words, this Joe Cocker creature, his gray streaks and chiseled face, this reinvented rebel with cause for fame, this father, this son, this singer, this man, this twin at heart. I guess you could sum it all up and say I love his voice. But it’s more than that. Steven Tyler is my coach. My mentor. My guide. He’s a total inspiration for an old fart grandmother. Here I am, about to look at 32 years of my life, starting with my daughter’s bedroom. I will start with her closet. She is never coming back to use this closet. She has her own closet in Oslo but she still has all these clothes on hangers, shoes stuffed into bags, bags of stuff on the closet floor, all kinds of gauzy skirts that she made or collected, stuff hanging out of duffle bags, paper bags, bags and bags and bags of her life. I really don’t want to go in there, so I don’t. I look out at the plum tree. Look! The blackbird is back! Can that bird hear the water I splashed into the dish this morning? Can the bird smell that I’ve returned from the north? Something is up! What’s up is that I am now living in the pre-new-now. The new now is what I’m trying to get my mind around. That’s why I’m fascinated by Steven Tyler. That’s why I’m starting with my daughter’s bedroom. The combination of Steven Tyler’s voice screaming at me to get my mind around the fact that something is up and the act of cleaning out my daughter’s closet is no coincidence.It’s lightning striking twice. It’s reality. I was lying on my couch trying to unwind and Steven Tyler wound me up.He’s still winding me up. I need this guy to scream at me louder and louder and louder, dream on, dream on, dream on… and finally, as if he were an axe — he makes a dent. Right, I don’t want to miss a thing either. Two outstanding tee-shirts have walked by me recently. First, Now Or Never. Then, Get Over It. How does anyone know what will happen? Freud says: “You know everything.” But, I, for one, need a dent to realize what I already know. I’m about to stare 32 years of my life in the face. At least today I get it. The past is done. Get over it. The new-now is promising. It’s true what Freud said. I know everything. Deep deep down, if I really think about it, I always knew this would happen. I always dreamed it. It’s all good. I’ll start with the closet.